


The Kiss of Sea Air

by ElizabethPacifica



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate History, Character Death, Crash Landing, Depression, Desert Island, Deviates From Canon, Drinking, Escapism, F/M, Fluff, It's All right in the end I promise, Kissing, Latin, Lt Lesaro is a cinnamon roll, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Religion, Period-Typical Sexism, Roman Catholicism, Romance, Salazar has a serious case of Catholic Guilt, Sexy Spanish Capitan, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Sword Fighting, Time Travel, What do you call the fear of coconuts, but it's not until later, cante jondo, clearly I watch too many telenovelas, soundtrack, will update as we go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-10 20:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethPacifica/pseuds/ElizabethPacifica
Summary: Capitán Armando Salazar thinks himself very righteous in his pursuit of pirates. We know he despises them because of what they have done to his family. His soul is full of Pride, an evil Pride which has become an obsession. Was he always this way? How could he know the words of simple Franciscans, have been miraculously saved in battle, and then in what he believed was the end of it all, think he had been abandoned by God?  He had other reasons to risk his life in an attempt to purify the seas of pirates – the orders of his King, the honor of his Faith, and the rescue of his Love. This is that story.A kiss of the sea air. It can linger for days if it has entwined with your hair. Or it can pass leaving no mark at all.My first fanfic and all grammatical errors are mine. I’m an artist not a writer but I needed to get this story out of my system.  Cliché? Perhaps. But this is Pirates darling! Do acquaint yourself with tags dear reader. Comments welcome!!





	1. What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclosure: Anyone or anything you recognize from The Mouse Movies or lyrics from musical artists does not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended. The OC’s forged out of my wild imagination are: Teresa Romero/ Teresita, Addison Wahlquist /Adie, Cheche Lago, Fr. Jacome Herrera, Fr. Alejo.
> 
> MUSIC INSPIRATION for introduction: Enya, The Humming.

Chapter 1: What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?

Coconuts. Coconut rice and coconut rum and coconut slushies and coconut curry. Coconut lotion and facials and hair products galore and … 

“Adie I swear if you bring me one more coconut product or if I even see another coconut I will put kale in all your food for the next month.”

“It’s the tropics what did you expect,” smiling over her shoulder to her friend.

Teresa put the bottle back on the shelf. “When’s our flight tomorrow?”

“7:30. I can’t wait to see the sunset over these waters.”

The wooden shack had once been painted in neon colored stripes. It reminded Teresa of a prop from the set of a 1980’s John Candy movie. Signage above the door implied it was a sort of general store but it carried very little of what they actually needed, instead supplying tourists with endless shell trinkets and the ubiquitous coconut infusion. Today in the humid Spring air the tiny building showed clearly the signs of having withstood the daily ocean wind and barely surviving two hurricanes. Light poured from between the wall boards and the breeze crept in underneath, gliding between the lace of Teresa’s white espadrilles and tickling her feet.

The man behind the counter whose coal-dark eyes followed Addison around the shop, leisurely swayed his lean form to the steel drum music coming from a vintage radio. He took another drag from his cigarette and flashed a large smile toward Addison. Maybe that’s why she wanted to come back each day. That or she wanted to get second-hand high every afternoon. Teresa couldn’t decide.

The register chimed. “See ya ladies again tomorrow huh?” His thick Miami accent sent chills to Adie’s brain receptors that instantly made her go from well spoken Director of The Law Offices of Sabattini, Truyen, & Martinez, to shameless, eyelash-batting flirt.

Addison responded back with a smirk, “Sure I will.”

When they arrived back at the hotel lobby door, Addison stopped abruptly at the entrance and Teresa almost collided with her. “There he is!” Adie tried to whisper but she could only manage a teenager-esqu squeal. “T! Here he comes!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Stop acting like a puck bunny.” 

Remaining calm in high stress situations at work, easy. Remaining calm while the ice-blue eyed man who had just scored 4 goals in one game and was on track for the Art Ross Trophy, walked into the same elevator as she was in? _Not today brain cells._ Her heart pounded while she tried to gather strength and pose to follow through with the plan.

***

The elevator doors opened to the 5th floor and Teresa stepped out first. “I’m sorry T,” Addison tried to comfort her friend who was choking back tears. _Idiot._ “N-not your fault. Don’t apologize for things you didn’t do Adie.” 

The emptiness of her hotel room was exactly the welcome she wanted. _Hello comfortable bed_, she sighed, sprawling out on her back. Immediately (and most annoyingly) her phone began to buzz.

Adie: Are you going to be okay for dinner tonight?

_buzz _

Adie: If it’s any comfort he won’t be there.

_buzz_

Adie: Cheche has also decided to kick his ass if he shows up so, you know. That could be fun.

_buzz buzz _

Adie: Answer me or I’m sending a delivery of 5 Hawaiian pizzas to your room. Immediately.

_I’m alive. Be there at 8. _

***

A waiter wound them through the overcrowded restaurant. Teresa kept her eyes down just in case _that man_ decided to make an appearance. Her heart was beating uncontrollably, and she wanted to hide under the giant leaves of the tropical plants and between the macramé doorways. _How hard could it be? I’ll just dart in and out of them no one will see me. It will all be safe once we get outside_.

Addison was walking with Cheche arm in arm. “This is posh! Ooo, look at that view! How did you manage to get reservations for this place?”

“I _know_ people mija. Miami is my port and I rule the gaming tables!” He then turned to whisper in Teresa’s ear, “Don’t worry I had my people check the list. He won’t be here.” His eyes turned to those big brown puppy dog eyes and a pouty frown curved his lips. “I was so looking forward to a bit of ass kicking after dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t always get what you want.” 

“But if you try sometimes…”

“Don’t.”

Outside, the Bossa Nova band on stage helped cover the loud conversations happening inside. _Deep breath_. _We made it_. The round metal table sat directly on the sand. She took off her shoes then buried her toes under the warmth as she sat down on the blue and white striped cushioned chairs.

“This is definitely beach side.”

Cheche smiled and sat directly across from Addison. “I keep my promises. Now, what appetite do you have. Ah-uh, never mind the price!”

Teresa’s mind finally began to quiet, lulled by the sound of the waves, the delicious feel of the sand exfoliating her feet and messing with her pedicure, and the hum of the conversation surrounding her.

A gust from the ocean came directly across the sand and met her face touching her cheek, dancing there like a lover’s warm breath ghosting her lips. She closed her eyes. The caress was accompanied by something else too. A scent. Unique but familiar._ What is that_? Her eyes opened to find the odor had gone. 

“Your Chef’s special tonight” the waiter’s voice snapped her back to the present.

“3 of whatever it is!” Addison chimed in, “and three very potent adult beverages please.”

Teresa played with a little blue umbrella that had been bobbing up and down in her drink, gaze lost across the vast ocean in front of them. Her pensive mood did not go unnoticed.

Cheche rose from his seat and lifted a glass. “To friends! May your weekend be filled with ice chips, your month be filled with the bells of London, and your year, well, your year be filled with all those things that make a heart long to be bound in the sweet yoke of love.”

Teresa and Addison both sat in awe. “Um, cheers then!”

“Cheche dear, is there something you’d like to tell us?”

“Yeah who’s the lucky…” but before she could finish her question the food was being served.

“Tobago crab and callaloo. Enjoy.” He said as he practically shoved the bowls on the table in front of them. This second waiter was much too grim to be working at a place that could host such beautiful sunsets each night. Pinks and reds blended with clouds that were building on the horizon. Cheche dipped into the green sauce and began eating, not paying attention to Addison and Teresa who were trading glances. Addison was the first to break into a smile and as soon as Teresa saw the smirk cross her friend’s lips she could not hold back any more.

“Is that?”

“A coconut.” Laughter ruled every reasonable emotion until tears were uncontrollable.

Cheche held a blank stare. “What?”

“Nothing dear.”

With a crash his fork landed on the table. “There’s something in the food?!”

Teresa feigned a reassuring tone. “No, no, it’s fine! It’s just been a stressful week.”

“She’s got coconutaphobia.”

“That is not a real thing Adie.” 

“Yes, it is. Look.” Ever one to keep up with changing technology she pulled out a devise that was still in beta production. “Angioedema.”

“That’s what a coconut _allergy _does to you, not the fear of it!”

Cheche knew better than to get into the middle of this argument. 

The sullen waiter looked disapprovingly at the table and came over. Addison began wheezing “– it’s delicious. No, really. Cheers!” 

After dinner, Addison leaned in to Cheche and almost yelled in his ear. “Thank you for a most wonderful dinner!”

“I think now would be an _excellent _time to head back.”

Teresa wiped her mouth and put her napkin back on the table. “I agree. Enough of this lovely beauuuutiful irresistible place you’ve taken us to. We need to get back to the dull, tedious, insipid, languid, world that lay waiting for us,” she pointed grandly to the door, “Out There.”

Teresa clearly was feeling the effects of whatever that glowing blue concoction Addison had ordered for them earlier. 

“It’s been so long that I forgot what a walking thesaurus you turn into when you get drunk,” Cheche said running his hand through the cold sweat which beaded down his glass.

“I’m not drunk. I’m stage two lightly inebriated.” Her face now inches away from his and resting on her chin on her hand. “There’s a difference.”

“Yes Lady Shakespeare.”

Teresa sat back and threw her hand over her mouth. “I did it again didn’t I?”

“Oh don’t worry about it. We think it’s cute. Don’t we Adie? Don’t _we_ Addison?”

“Mhum.” Digging into her purse attempting to find her lipstick. “Your adorable British accent is showing when you drink.”

“I am not British!” she protested and began a string of Spanish expletives.

“Keep telling yourself that. We know you’d love to…”

“Silencio!” she turned on her heel quickly and a raised eyebrow was the signal that Addison was about to cross a line she didn’t really want to.

As they stood to leave, Cheche gave her a bow and escorted the two out into the street. Their faces only illuminated by red and blue neon signs, he noticed Teresa’s smile. She had forgotten about earlier in the day and for once, perhaps only in a handful of times in her life, she was allowing herself to live in the moment.

Walking along the sidewalk turned into sauntering down the sidewalk which then turned to almost skipping down said sidewalk. Teresa started humming and as soon has Addison heard the familiar tune, she sang out:

One two three four

Can I have a little more?

Five six seven eight nine ten I love you!

(Teresa followed)

A B C D

Can I bring my friend to tea?

E F G H I J I love you!

(The three of them together)

Sail the ship! (Bompa bom)

Chop the tree! (bompa bom)

Skip the rope! Look at me!!

All together now! All together now!

Evening closed in on them and the stars – oh the stars were unusually clear and bright even through the city’s light pollution. Sirius caught Teresa’s eye. “See,” pointing up, “you can tell it’s not Venus because it looks like a pulsing rainbow. Venus just sits there.”

“Typical.” He threw his hands up. “What?! Typical Roman goddess. Knows she’s the loveliest thing and expects everyone to recognize her immediately. I feel sorry for Sirius now.”

Addison put her arms around Cheche. “You are the craziest drunk.”

“I’m the most thoughtful drunk thank-you-very-much.”

***

“Good night Adie.”

“Good night Teresa.”

This time the elevator ride felt calm and the sense of embarrassment and dread no longer loomed over her. Teresa was going to miss the little hotel room with its god-y tropical theme wallpaper and unusual amount of pillows. _Why would you put 5 full size pillows on one double bed?_ For a split second she was tempted to make it into a fort. _My luck they’d fall on me in the middle of the night and Adie would come in to discover the body._

Instead she cleared the entire bed off (first thing to go in any hotel is the bedspread – ew!) and laid out everything she wanted to pack in her carry-on. She told herself she was not over packing this is just the way it’s done. _Must be prepared,_ her father would remind her. Besides, if you do it correctly it’s like a puzzle. Only the most experienced traveler could fit this much AND have room for and extra pair of heels. 

Speaking of which.

She picked up the copper colored stilettos from next to the nightstand. They were her favorite – purchased with a bonus after her last job promotion. She slipped them on. _I don’t care what he thought. These shoes make my feet look good. In you go!_

A brief second glance of the contents as she reminder herself to leave room for her make up. One dress was taking up a great deal of space but much like her beloved shoes, she couldn’t chance it getting lost in the depths that is luggage limbo. 

The shower was too hot but felt good on her skin, sobering her up a little. She started humming while she danced from the bathroom to the mini bar while brushing her hair. Should she have another little drink? Probably not, but she didn’t want to let go of this light gentle numbness just yet.

We were born before the wind

Also younger than the sun

Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic.

Hark, now hear the sailors cry

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic…

Climbing into bed, the only glow of light came from her laptop. Yes! Her favorite fanfic just posted a new chapter. Teresa settled in under the covers, pulling them up high around her and adjusting her headphones.

_What was that_? She paused and noticed something in the air. That scent again. It lingered, hovering over her left shoulder like an orb. This time it stayed for longer. She took in a deep breath, determined to make a connection.

_What **is** that_?

Dill.

Sea salt.

Orange blossoms.

Very specific.

Now she remembered. The beach at Carmel! As soon as she identified the place, the scent disappeared.

***

The airport was quiet. “Bye Cheche! Thanks for the rum, darling!” Addison shook a mini bottle, slipped it into her jacket pocket and strutted to the runway.

“When will you be back?” Teresa adjusted the watch on her wrist and replied, “Never I hope.”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday.” Cheche placed a hand under Teresa’s chin. “Mija, do not forget your own worth.” Their warm hug felt bittersweet. “Good-bye my friend.”

“Next year we West Coast Tour got it?” Teresa shouted back while waving and boarding the twin engine plane. 

Cheche waived back passionately, no longer able to hold back tears, “Only if we spend the weekend in Catalina!”

***

She always considered herself lucky to be shorter than her friends when it came to climbing aboard public transportation. The seats were never to cramped and she never had to duck in the doorways. This plane had especially relaxing and soft chairs that swiveled. _Oh look, a drink holder too!_ _I could get used to small planes taking me to gorgeous tropical islands_.

“Glad to leave Miami behind?” Addison slumped down into the seat next to her and buckled in.

“Yes,” was her curt reply.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Vi…”

“Don’t say his name.” Teresa glared out the small window on her left. “I don’t want to remember.”

“We all have our ghosts.”

“I had to try even if this is the outcome,” she managed a fake smile.

“It was fun though. That game almost killed me.”

Teresa settled her bag in underneath her feet. “Maybe next time if you see a puck coming toward your face you’ll duck?”

_“Good evening passengers this is your pilot, Capitan Santos. Winds are calm and skies are clear. Take off is scheduled in 10 minutes and those of you wanting to see the pool are in luck as the seas are calm as well. This should be a short 1 ½ hour sunset flight. Temperature in Miami is a perfect 78 degrees. In fact, temperature over the entire Caribbean Sea is absolutely perfect.”_

The plane began to lightly shake as the propeller blades started their revolutions. Settling into her window seat and buckling in, Teresa put on headphones and checked luggage under the seat again with her feet.

Who’s gonna tell you when

It’s too late.

Who’s gonna tell you things

Aren’t so great.

You can’t go on thinkin’

Nothing’s wrong,

Who’s gonna drive you home

Tonight?

The crescendo of the song matched the rising of the plane from the loud, bumpy runway to the smoothness of being airborne. The sky parted into the pinks of the previous evening only this time she was dancing in them. The plane was making a peaceful glide into the skyscape and she felt relaxed enough to sleep. _Thanks, lorazepam_. 

Just as she started to find a dream, small air pockets tapped on the plane. 

Captain Santos smooth voice came across the speakers. “Slight turbulence. To be expected at twilight as the temperature of the air changes.”

It didn’t feel right. Teresa turned to Addison who was still sleeping and as she looked back over the water, she noticed the plane was starting to…

– disappear. 

Everything she could see or feel was shattering apart. “Addison!” But Adie stayed asleep and she too was slowly disappearing. It was like someone had taken a hammer to a mirror and was breaking it into millions of shards and then those shards became mercury pouring into the ocean water below. She fought her natural reaction to panic and was able to grab her luggage and float on it until part of the wing came up underneath her. She dragged herself on top of it while the waves from the tide pushed her closer to a sandy shore. As she crossed the largest wave, even this wing began breaking apart and melting into the sea. If she wanted to survive, she had to start swimming. Now! With each palm into the water, the splashes started to glow blue and leave a path from the direction she had come from. Moments later she pulled herself on shore out of the reach of the waves and collapsed from exhaustion.

**End Chapter Notes**I hate flying. I hate planes. If the description of flying seems brief it was for my own peace of mind. Songs: Beatles – All Together Now / Van Morrison – Into the Mystic / The Cars – Drive. Not all chapters will be this long, unless your input persuades me. 


	2. "Apparently I needed to be more specific."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up:*Depression & suicidal thoughts in this chapter.* This chapter is not as well edited because I want to get it out of the way so please be kind and don’t come at me with a red pen. Aahhhhh! Where is our Capitan?!

The first thing she heard the was the sound of water sloshing around in a tub. Repeatedly. Rhythmically. She felt cool water lapping at her toes and foam ran up her ankles. The warm sand beneath her was cradling her face just right. But that sun, oh how it started to burn her skin. Plus, it was dreadfully bright. Intensely bright. Slowly waking, Teresa lay there squinting not lifting her head, and picking up a handful of sand let it sift through her fingers. She repeated this action several times partly to amuse herself and partly to concentrate on something that would help stop her head from spinning.

“Addison dear, order me a mimosa with breakfast please? This is one headache for the books.”

A large gull screamed directly above her. Adrenaline kicked in and Teresa quickly turned and backed up from the water frantically looking around. Where she had expected to see people, the beach was completely empty. The only thing she recognized was her luggage that had washed up about 20 feet away.

Getting up proved difficult. Her legs quivered and the sand slipped under her feet as she ran to retrieve the purple metal case before the tide claimed it back. She almost passed out from having gotten up so suddenly. It was intact_. If this survived, if I survived, maybe someone else from the crash did to? _

“Okay, get it together.” She looked up at the gull, still circling_. Gulls don’t eat people right? They aren’t some weird vultures of the sea?_ She wished Addison was there with her tech and prayed her friend was alive and safe.

The little spit of land would have been a dream destination if it weren’t for the fact that there was not an actual bathroom, food, music, charging station… _People_.

Her foot slammed into something hard. “Are you kidding me?” She rubbed her eyes and looked down.

Coconuts. 

_Nope. Nada. Noper-ino. I don’t care if I starve, I’m going to fish first or find crabs before I have to eat a coco…_ But she was so thirsty. So very, very, thirsty. 

_Alright. I’ll make a fire first and then attack the coconut. Yes. Fire first. Coconut later. _

_ Wait. _

_Pee first, then fire, then coconut. _“Lord I’m already talking to myself.”

She wandered to the center of the island meandering between palm trees and over some dried plants she couldn’t identify. From this vantage Teresa was hoping to see in the distance, perhaps make out another island or see a ship on the horizon. Nothing. There was nothing but gorgeous shades of blue surrounding the white sand.

“Papa always said to be prepared. Let’s make that fire.” Palm trees are supposed to be a fire hazard. In fact, her grandfather was fined by the city and ordered to take down a 30 foot palm tree from his front yard as part of the new “California Fire Hazard Clean Up Bill” of 2019. She laughed. Abuelo used to call it the “Comb-Over Bill” in reference to a certain politician’s suggestion that California needed to “sweep the forests”. She picked up bunches of dried palm fronds off the ground and began gathering rocks in a circle. 

_Now what am I supposed to do? Rub some sticks together? Oh, lithium batteries are highly flammable!_ She opened her luggage and unhinged the back of the case on her phone.

She paused_. Do I really want to do this? No, I need the phone. Okay but you need to keep warm at night and cook food and boil water. But I need the phone! Isn’t there anything else in here with a battery? _

No.

_Here goes…Wait!_

Teresa rushed back to her luggage and began throwing contents haphazardly around her. Cotton ball, vodka bottle, beeswax lip balm. _Glasses. Glasses are…Eureka_! She fluffed open the cotton ball and poured some of the alcohol on it and then rubbed some of the beeswax on the bottom. She gently placed the Scout-worthy fire starter in the center of the palm fronds as if she were offering it as a sacrifice to appease a vengeful spirit.

She walked around the fire pit until she could see her glasses were lined up with the sun to make out a pinpoint concentration of light on the cotton ball. Teresa made the Sign of the Cross, kissed her fingers and invoked the name of St. Lorenzo.

Two hours later…

“Why won’t you burn you stupid tree?! Alright Guardian Angel, would you help me out please?”

A light column of smoke appeared. Success! “I did it!! I did it Papa! Take that Nature!” She twirled around and tumbled ungracefully to the sand. ‘_Pride goeth before a fall.’ Yes Cheche I know. _She decided to take few moments to lay next to the fire and rest as a reward for her work.

***

“Alright you coconut.”

There she and it sat in the sand, directly across from each other in a mutual stare-down.

Teresa versus the coconut.

_I made fire, I’m going to open this coconut_. _Or, coconuts_. To her right she had placed a pile of 5 of them and they sat there taunting her with their bizarre coconut eyes.

Picking up the biggest and flattest rock she could find, she placed the coconut on it. _If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning… Oh for the love_. She tightened her grip on a second smaller rock and gently tapped the shell. _Going to need to hit it harder than that_. At the second impact the coconut broke into pieces and she scrambled but the water from inside drained quickly only to be absorbed by the sand. She fought the desire to scream out expletives of all sorts.

Teresa grabbed a second coconut and placed on the rock, giving it the evil eye. _Think T. If only I had a straw._ _Tweezers!_ In her luggage she found the sharpest tweezers and began hammering them into one of the coconut eyes. _Ha! It’s a pirate coconut. _She rocked the tweezers out of the shell and then, slowly turning it up and placing the hairy husk against her lips, she drank. It was so, so refreshing. I_’m_ _sorry little coconut. I’m sorry I ever said one bad word against you. _

***

Sunset was not as beautiful as she anticipated. There was a change in the direction of the wind. At least this second night would not be as dark if she could keep the fire going.

The first star appeared above her. _Hello Venus. Hello Sirius_. Teresa try to pass the time by laying on her back and trying to identify the big constellations. They were so clear this far away from Miami. The sky was massive and continuing to lay there made her dizzy. 

_It’s so quiet. I’ll sing_! Firstly, she would never admit to anyone, not even Adie, how much she loved Mamma Mia. Here she had the opportunity for her own concert without fear of criticism. 

Where are those happy days they seem so hard to find?

I try to reach for you.

but you have closed my mind

Whatever happened to our love?

I wish I understood It used to be so nice. It used to be so good

So when you're near me, darling, can't you hear me S.O.S.?

The love you gave me. nothing else can save me, S.O.S.

When you're gone, how can I even try to go on?

When you're gone though I try how can I carry on?

Feeling bold, she decided a second song was needed to fill the quiet darkness and the bonfire on the beach inspired her.

Can you hear the drums Fernando  
I remember long ago another starry night like this  
In the firelight Fernando  
You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar  
I could hear the distant drums  
And sounds of bugle calls were coming from afar

She found herself laughing at the entire scene. _I’m not alone, there are Heavenly Angels all around me. Yes, and there are creatures._ The scuttling back and forth behind her sounded oddly just like the sharpening of nail files. Amazing what a vivid imagination and being alone all day will conjure up. _Nope never mind do NOT dwell on the critters. _ With that last thought she backed herself up to a palm tree, said a few prayers and fell into a light sleep.

***

The next morning was much cooler. Her skin was sunburned so much that she was having chills and she needed to cover up if she was going to survive another day without blistering. The hoodie was bulky but necessary.

She was much better at situational awareness and escape from a crowded city. Escape means safety and not having to live in a place where you’ve been dropped off by the universe. That’s exactly what had happened. She had been scooped up and dropped off on this sand bar by the Universe for no reason. She was going to die alone. Surrounded by coconuts.

Teresa brought herself to the edge of the water and for the first time since crawling out of the ocean walked slowly back in. Very tiny fish darted back and forth around her. She was losing energy and knew she should try and catch a few but there was something else that weighed on her more.

Depression. She could feel it coming on. Of course she would feel this way. She was alone, stranded, her friends probably dead, and she was coming to terms with her situation. _Have to keep busy_, she told herself as she wiped the tears from her face. It was no good. _Maybe I should see what happens if I just keep walking further and further into the ocean. Maybe I would drown? That wouldn’t be so bad would it? No one would notice. I could keep walking. That’s all it would be, just walking…_Teresa mindlessly made it into the water waist deep when something stopped her. Dill. Orange Blossoms. It sent chills through her body and she raced back to the shore to sit huddled next to her luggage and quickly dwindling fire.

Visions of Mythbuster’s and their island Duct Tape Challenge sparked in her mind. I couldn’t leave room for one roll of duct tape? Nope. Selfish and needed to have those extra pair of heels, she inspected them, dangling off her finger. She pondered when she was going to use those. A seductive scene in the elevator, cornering her prey, making him laugh. It was a good plan - a very good plan! Then she could no longer hold back the tears. All the I’s dotted and t’s crossed. Adie would make some excuse and…

BOOM. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if you’ve ever been in high stress / have to leave a place immediately situation but I have and one weird thing I noticed that no one seems to tell you about until after is that when you finally come down from the rush and you realize you’re safe, you get very thirsty. Oddly thirsty. Chapters will be coming hopefully weekly but school starts soon, so I need to concentrate on that too. St. Lawrence is patron *against* fires, which I think played nicely into why she was having trouble getting the fire to start.


	3. I've Still Got Sand In My Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, you have convinced me this is a worthwhile endeavor so I shall continue. Thank you for the copious amount of love! I had to make a choice beginning in this chapter how to divide what is said in Spanish vs English and did not want to distract you with translations. (words) – Spanish. “words” – English. This is an important distinction for further in the story but if it makes it difficult to read please let me know and I will change it.  
Without further ado, I present Chapter 3. (Also, we have a brief guest appearance. *Hehe and wrings hands*)

“A ship! A…ship with sails?” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. _What sort of messed up fresh hell is this? _

Frantic and rushing, Teresa scurried up the shore to her luggage and shoved all her things in haphazardly, paying no attention to the amount of sand being included. The fire! Shoveling and kicking sand on top of it, a whispered valediction ran across her lips, “Good-bye you brilliant, onerous, labor of love.”

Five men, all disheveled in appearance dragged the small boat up the beach. One man stood out, his scraggly beard and clay covered hair poking out in wild directions from under his worn leather hat. He had something in his hand which he tried to keep the other men from seeing. “This way”, he pointed and then closed the black box.

This was definitely not a rescue mission. She hid as best she could behind a small group of palms, her heart pounding in her ears.

“Someone’s been here.” A man leaned down at the campfire which was still warm.

“Well, go find them!” The man in charge shook his head and sighed. “Stupid pirates.”

_Pirates? Like pirates_? All she could think of was a meme. _These guys are Somalian_? 

She tried to stay hidden. They climbed the beach directly toward her position closely following the man holding the black box. He stopped between 3 palms and started to jump up and down. “Here men!” They started brushing away the dead plants from the ground and then opened a door to underground.

“It _is_ all there?” he asked while leaning down to have a look for himself. “It had better be or you’ll lose your brains from your head.” Two men in the hole quickly put the corks back on the bottles they had been drinking from. “Orders are for ten crates. No more, no less.” He pointed the pistol to the man on his right. “And if’n ya can’t count to ten, use your fingers.”

The men bellowed. “But Cap’n I’ve only got 8.”

“Shut up Maberly or you’ll be losin’ more than yer fingers.”

They dragged the boxes back down to shore when the captain caught a flash of purple light to the side. “Keep loadin’ I’ll be back.”

Teresa lost sight of him and struggled to keep balanced as she straddled two trunks above the bushes. Three days of little food and even less sleep were catching up with her. The brut came from behind her and tied a rope around her waist. She attempted to scream, attempted to hit anything she could feel, attempted to kick sand in his face. This captain was too strong to escape from. 

“Well look here. I’ve got a special addition for the men that what’s ordered the rum!” He tightened a scarf to her eyes and carried her back to the shore and the waiting ship.

***

“Where did you get this?” She heard him slam the luggage down on the deck and it made her quake.

“Are you,” he poked her on the side and removed her blindfold, “Spanish? Did The Spaniard leave you on that island? Speak!”

“No, I…” she hesitated and blinked several times to try and adjust to the glare coming from the sea drenched deck of the ship. _They all have a thick English accent_. “May I?” she asks and pointed to the bottle of open rum precariously sitting on a barrel next to her. The men looked wide eyed as she drank down several mouthfuls in one go. _Oh sweet Methuselah that tasted horrid_. Waiting for the burning sensation to leave her throat and enter her stomach, she decided she was sufficiently buzzed.

_Lady Shakespeare indeed_. “California is not a part of Spain sir. We are our own independent land!”

One of the men in the back whispered to the Captain. “Go get it then.”

When he came back, he handed the Captain a small book in a black leather binding. The words on the cover were in Spanish and she could not clearly read the script. 

_This is it. This is the punishment I get for making my aunt and cousins go on that cavernous ride 7 times in one day when I was 5 years old. Yo ho ho. I’m hallucinating? I’m dead? This is Purgatory? _

“My first mate thinks you are an Amazonian goddess.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Does he?” She should have been flattered.

“Prove that you are, and we will let you go!”

“Give me my luggage,” pointing to the box.

“No.” Crossing his arms and looking rather pleased with himself. “Do something magical first.”

“Prove you are a goddess!” The man standing to her left yelled and put his pistol to her head.

She didn’t hear anything else except the sound of her head hitting the deck.

***

“How’d you get here?” His first words caught her off guard. A young man was standing just outside her cell, playing with a row of beads that had been braided into his hair.

She brushed the hair out of her face and managed to pull herself up on her knees. “I’m guessing one of you threw me in here.”

“I mean on that island.” His voice was quizzical, not threating like she had imagined it would be.

“I fell from a plane.”

“You fell.” 

“Yes. From an airplane. Dropped right out of the sky.” Dancing her hands in the first light of morning.

His eyes grew larger, salaciously investigating every inch of her body. “Now then, that’s interesting.” He began thumbing thru the same book the Captain held earlier. “Tell me about - California.”

“I’d rather not. I have a headache and I think I’m going to be sick.” Standing was even more difficult, but she knew it had to be done.

“Ah, well I have just the thing for that.” In a gracefully fluid motion he unlocked the door, stepped in, shut the door quietly behind him and pressed himself against her, staring hazily at her mouth. 

A sound reverberated through the hull.

Purgatory has real fire. That was cannon fire.

The force of the impact pushed them closer together against the wall. “Guess I’ll have to wait. Seems El Matador is not done with us yet.”

“Please, you have to let me get off this ship.” _What am I saying? Those are actual cannon balls headed this way! At least it was safer on the island. Must escape. _“Here. If you bring me my bag and get me out of here,” she unclasped the back of her earrings, “I will give you these.” Teresa could hardly believe she was going to part with them. The gold ovals held a single blood colored garnet in the center. He tried to grab for them. “Yes, it’s real gold. Do we have a deal?”

He nodded his head. “An accord, Miss,” he retorted as he licked his lips.

The young man rushed back upstairs dodging other pirates and weaving between cannons being thrown back as they fired. “Captain, you’ve got to let her go. She’s got a consumption.”

The captain paused to look down on deck. “What boy?” Even for this pirate’s peculiar daily speech, this was an odd thing to say.

“I mean, she’s obviously a witch aye - bad luck!” an odd smirk took hold of his face. “Bad luck eh!” he told every ear that passed him.

“Get her off this ship!” several of the other men yelled in agreement. The captain was too busy steering to argue. He took another swig of rum and pushed off the officer that was trying to bandage his profusely bleeding arm. He held the compass up again.

In the noise and confusion, the young man ran down blood covered stairs and brought Teresa back on deck. The sunlight was obscured by flashes and smoke from the cannons. Lowering her down to the boat he held out a hand. “Payment, love.” As swiftly as she handed him the earrings, he threw her luggage down. “Now, row.”

“Well sure but I… I can’t get both oars in the water! My arms are too short!”

His smile was bold “Not my problem Miss!” 

Cannon balls flew sharply over her head. She threw herself on the floor. _You never hear the one that takes you out._

The waves were taking her quickly away from one tremendously dangerous place to a moderately dangerous one. Not a great trade. There was no way she could row for shore and the Spanish ship was closing on her. “Please stop! Please stop!” Between standing up and then ducking again, “Halt! Alto! Por favor! Stop!”

“Pirates!” she yelled, standing again and waving her arms, rocking boat back and forth, pointing at the boat in front of her.

(Hold fire!) The officer standing at the helm yelled out. (Magda, take the wheel.) he commanded as he ran down the stairs and knocked on the door to the map room before opening it. (Capitán there is a small boat in front of us) he said glaring with his one eye at the back of the head of the captain.

Without a move the man spoke. (I assume it has come from the pirate ship. How many?)

(It is a single passenger. A woman Capitán.) He clears his throat and thought, no need right now to mention how she is dressed. (She appears to be in distress. She is begging for us to stop.)

In the middle of the room over a square table covered in maps and tiny ships stood a man dressed in an impeccable black and white uniform. Seated at the same table, a juxtaposing figure attempted to hide his presence but knew it was unsuccessful. His younger face was weather worn and pock marked, a halo of brown hair seemed to fall and connect with an unkempt beard around his chin. The simple grey wool robe around his slender body was held together by rope around his waist and sandals, quite unsuitable for being at sea, clung to the shape of his large flat feet. The priest looked up at the captain and then the officer.

(Bring her on board. But do not lose those pirates Lieutenant!) He sighed and glared at the Franciscan who nodded his head in approval of the captain’s command.

(Yes Capitán.)

***

(We cannot stop for some little boat! We are losing them!) Bracero was leaning over the port rail looking down on her.

Standing at the helm Magda shot a look of confidence. (Do not worry Bracero, The Silent Mary will not lose her prey.)

“Do they see me? They don’t see me.”

_Okay if they don’t stop soon or I can’t get out of the way I’m going to be impaled on that – Is she holding a sword? That’s pretty bad ass. All these people thinking women didn’t have power in the past. LOOK at that figurehead_!

The Silent Mary barely slowed down when one of the men threw a rope to Teresa. It landed next to her feet with a thud.

(Attach it to the stern, grab the rope and we will hoist you up).

“What?”

(The rope. Attach it to the boat. Climb up.)

_Oh you’ve got to be kidding me._ She put her hand to her ear, hoping he understood the universal sign for I can’t hear you.

The man looked back on deck for directions. (Cortez, climb down and bring her up.) Lesaro ordered.

(Yes sir) was his quick response as he made his way down the side of the hull.

Bracero got in the face of his lieutenant. (Are we really bringing on board an English woman?)

(Capitán’s orders) Lesaro scolded.

(Capitán’s orders), Bracero grumbled under his breath as he walked over to check on Cortez’ progress.

(No no señorita", leave it.) Cortez grabbed the luggage out of her hands and put it back on the floor of the boat.

“No, I’m taking it with me.” She blinked a few times in surprise. _He’s kinda cute in a dreamy smile that says he might be trouble and hair tied back in a black bow and hello shoulders…if you’re into that sort of thing. _His mouth curved up and made this shape that folded over his tongue when he spoke. _Just…like… _She growled and jerked the box from his hands.

(No señorita, we must climb. Very dangerous to be here.) His voice hinted he felt scared. He pointed to the rope, nodding with his head hoping she understood. 

“I. Don’t. Care. I’m not leaving this boat without it.”

Cortez had the luggage handle between his arm and belt, bouncing awkwardly as he ascended. He started cursing between his teeth. She too was slipping around but adrenaline forced its way into her arms as she held the rope tighter than anything she could remember. _Sharks? Let’s not think about – sh!_ her foot slipped and one shoe fell, so slowly, splashing into the water below leaving her to climb the rest of the ship with even less confidence. 

_Note to self: Next time we climb the side of a boat, do not wear a cotton maxi dress and espadrilles. _At least her hoodie was keeping her arms safe from the sharp barnacles and splinters.

When they got to the rail, he tossed the luggage over and Officer Santos came to help him. “I’ve got you, Cortez.” 

No one came to help her. 

Wet and shivering she kept her head down and peered out of her hoodie over the deck. It was an expanse that traveled far enough she could not see the ocean in her periphery. The rocking motion was making her sick again_. ‘Try looking at the horizon. Stare at the horizon and don’t lock your knees.’_ Abuelo once advised when they had to sail on a ferry from Vancouver to Victoria. That was only a ride in the Bay. This was on the open ocean. She wished he was with her now. She wished anyone she knew had been on that deck with her now, and pulled her luggage closer to her chest. There was no way now she was going to part with it. It was her life preserver. Between the horizon and her eye she beheld a crew without any blemishes in their uniforms, and the ship, it was going to take a while to describe the unique beauty that she found herself on.

(What were you doing on a pirate ship?) Lesaro offered her a blanket and when she didn’t take it, he forced it over her shoulders.

_Oh hey there intimidating one-eyed Spanish guy._ “Okay, so speeeaaaak sllllowwwerrrr?”

(slowly?)

“Si” Teresa stopped short. She still had that potent rum in her system so speaking Spanish with The Queen’s English accent didn’t seem like a great idea. 

(What – were – you- doing – on – a – pirate – ship?)

(Ask her in English), an overly exuberant Cortez said.

Lieutenant Lesaro stepped closer. “I ask you again. What were you doing on pirate ship?”

She bit her tongue and thought it wiser to stay silent instead of saying what was on her sarcastic mind. _No comprendo amigo_. She was not about to reveal that she could understand some of what they were saying until she could be comfortable knowing if they were friend or foe.

“I will take you to Capitán Salazar.”

***

(You’re dripping on my floors.)

“Excuse me?” 

Lesaro was the first to speak clearly. “She was rowing away from the pirates we are chasing.”

(What do you know of them?) A dark gravel voice in was questioning her.

_Hot damn. Call the police and the fireman_. _That was some commanding voice. _Her face immediately flushed red. “I know they have rum on board and this,” pointing to all around her and nervously tapping her foot, “is all just crazy.” 

Observing the room Teresa found it was well organized as above deck. Half-finished maps, quill and ink, and a dozen navigation tools lay neatly on the table. In the far corner above an Altar was a large painting of The Assumption. It looked suspiciously like the one her abuela had in her own bedroom, surrounded by dried palm frond roses from Palm Sunday, a scattering of holy cards, two large beeswax candles that no one was ever allowed to light unless you were ill, and at least five rosaries all of different colors.

She also noted a bowl of oranges on the table_. _No, her stomach noticed the oranges on the table._ At least they aren’t coconuts. _

“You…you must have a boo koo amount of money to get this set up. Trust me though”, she turned to Bracero who had finally released her arm. “I don’t think whoever is running this show is paying you enough. I mean, how long do you have to go without a shower?” She sniffed the air around Bracero and he took a grand step back.

The priest slowly got up and presented himself as translator. 

(Paying me? You are on a ship of the Imperial Spanish Navy. My payment is keeping the sea free of pirates.) He still had his back turned to her.

The words Imperial and España spoken with force. “You do this for free? No kidding? Buenos días señors!” The awful Spanish slipped out.

Salazar turned around sharply. _Oops. Yep, should have kept your mouth shut. Adie did always say my language would someday get me into trouble. Too bad you’re not here to see it. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. _

His brown eyes bored into hers.

_Did I mention…What was I saying? _

(Take her below.) 

Officer Bracero grabbed her, all to quickly and with a proud smile on his face. “Apologies, Capitán. Lo siento!” she screamed while being dragged away.

“Wait! Wait! You can’t! I’ve done nothing wrong! I was trying _to escape_ from the pirates!” The cell door slammed shut. “I was trying to escape. Great. Back in a cell.” She walked toward a small window when a large rat scurried across her foot. She could hold it together no longer and leaned over a bucket. _Ahhgg, coconuts are disgusting coming back up_. 

The brig had not been used in a while, as Salazar generally thought it best to return any prisoners to The Almighty directly or transfer them to another ship in the Armada mercifully for judgement in Spain.

“Good afternoon señorita. I am Padre Jacome Herrera.” Bracero opened the door to her cell to let him in and the father stood over her. She was shivering and curled up over her knees on the floor.

Weak from exhaustion and dehydration she managed to whisper, “May I have my luggage?”

“Your?”

“Box. The box I was carrying.”

“I do not think so.”

“Please. There is medicine in it. I need the medicine. I promise I will give it back once I have the medicine.” Her pleading was not working so she decided another tactic might be more effective. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out from under her hoodie the small brown wool squares attached by a cord she wore over her shoulders. “Padre, please.”

Father Herrera bent down to take the wool in his boney hands. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

“My name is Teresa Romero and I am from California. I,” she began coughing again and uncontrollably shaking. “I don’t exactly know how all this happened. But I am Catholic Padre, I tell you now as a Catholic, I swear, I mean no harm. I want to be home.”

Bracero looked down his nose at her. (You cost the Capitán a ship.)

“I’m sorry. I am sorry.” The tears she could no longer hold back rushed to her eyes. For the first time in this messy journey she allowed herself to feel, to cry. To connect the pain in her body with the pain in her heart. Padre Herrera tried to console her, and gently continued to ask questions about her beliefs until an hour had past and she was too tired to speak. 

***

Herrera ran up to the map room to tell the Capitán what he discovered.

Salazar dismissed Magda who had the dubious honor of informing the Capitán that the pirate ship had been lost ahead of them and they could not catch up. 

(You believe this woman?)

(She took an oath and recited the Creed. She knows her prayers, she knows the Faith!)

(The devil knows the faith too. Did you question her in Latin, Padre?) 

He had to admit no.

Salazar slammed his hand on the desk. (Then I have no choice. I have no proof that she is not a pirate. This box) he lifted it by the handle for inspection, (tell me Padre, where did it come from? How does it open?)

(She adamantly said she was not an English subject. She claims to have been born in California. Let me take this box to her, to find this medicine she needs. Armando you need to…) Herrera was trying to calm the man down.

(You are asking a lot of me, if you wish me to believe her. She must prove her innocence. As of right now, she is guilty and a prisoner.)

(I offer you this Capitán Salazar. If she kills me, then you have your proof.)

The Franciscan made a point. (Take it to her. But watch, Jacome, how she opens it. Then bring it back to me and we shall see.)

***

“Thank you Lord!” Never was a prayer so honest that passed Teresa’s lips. She made another sign of the cross and with small movements of her fingers opened her luggage. She tore through the mess to find pain medication and a sea sickness patch. _One left._ It closed again but with some force and she handed it back as promised. “Thank you Padre… I’m sorry what was it again?”

“Herrera.” 

“You have no idea.” _Didn’t Cheche mention something about ice chips in his toast? I could use a few of those now._ “You’re a saint. Really.”

“Capitán Salazar will keep you here for now. It is safer.”

“Safer? Do you have any idea what happened to me in the cell of the last ship?” Teresa looked up and caught Bracero’s fiery eyes shooting down on her.

“I will return tomorrow.” He left before answering her final question.

“Tomorrow?! I have to stay here overnight?”

***

Padre Herrera deposited the luggage on the table, scattering the maps in front of Salazar. (No weapons. She wanted the medicine and I believe her story. Interrogate her yourself.) He wanted to make it clear that he thought Salazar was being brutal this time and should take this opportunity to practice more of the Mercy they had been discussing during their sessions last week.

Armando Salazar needed to see for himself. He was almost shocked at what his eye beheld. Teresa, back to the cell door, kneeling and shivering, the sun’s twilight rays from the window were pouring in over her like a protective shield. He could have stayed there in silent meditation had he had not remembered Magda’s words. She had lost him a pirate ship.

Before returning to his cabin he stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. (Bracero, what do you think?)

(I think she is a pirate and would kill you if she had the chance.) 

(And the other Officers, they agree?)

(Yes Capitán.) Salazar nodded as he patted Bracero on the shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to all those in the fandom who have helped create the basic outlines for the Silent Mary Crew. I have my own head canon about Bracero and Magda which I hope you will enjoy. I warned you this was going to be cheesy!  
Also!! I have found the song I associate with this version of Salazar and I want to share it with you but I’m scared. Acckkk!  
The book is Las Sergas de Esplandián by Garci Rodríguez de Montalvo. Why do English pirates have in their possession a romance novel written by a Spaniard? It isn’t any more far-fetched than Barbossa having a book written by Galileo!  
Chapter title is song by Dido, same name. I’m thinking I need to put a playlist together?


	4. If You Prick Us Do We Not Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armando Salazar begins to learn that life is not always “Si, Si or No, No”. Teresa finds herself at the mercy of someone who is not known to be well acquainted with that term.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very, very sorry that last was such a long chapter. I could have broken it up, but I didn’t want to post multiple chapters and I wanted to make sure to get Armando & Teresa’s first interactions out there. Several chapters going forward will be shorter (they are also easier to edit that way! – that was a beast). A bit of a darker chapter too so I recommend you go watch a comedy after. Or do what I’ve been doing and get swept up with a certain one-eyed Spaniard to take your mind off things…

The post behind her was digging splinters into her back and the pressure around her chest barely let her breathe and she definitely, definitely could not move. Her arms were held straight beside her no matter which way she twisted. And the more she moved the more the wood dug into her. A glint of sunlight flashed off the silver that lay just below her neck, temporarily blinding her. She felt the sharpened point of a well kept blade press into her throat.

This is how it was going to end. Such a beautiful morning to end her life in blood. Would it be warm running down her throat? How long would it take until her body reached the bottom of the ocean and would they wait for her soul to completely leave her body before they cast her overboard? 

The Capitán was standing at the helm, medals flashing more light into her eyes and he spoke too quickly and was too far away for her to understand his words.

_Alright. I’m as prepared as I’m going to be. How long does it take to bleed out?_ Seeing who was standing before her, she knew he would not be kind and aim for her heart.

It was Bracero’s sword, tucked neatly under her chin.

Capitán Armando Salazar did not truly want to give the order. He could hear Herrera’s words over and over again in his mind:

“This is not Justice and you know it.”

The padre had no choice but to stand behind his Capitán and remain silent.

Or so he thought until it was that Salazar spoke, his words cutting into the friction between them. (Perhaps, Padre, you should go down and see if she has anything to confess?)

The Franciscan did not have to be told twice and awkwardly hobbled down the stairs. Finally standing before the captive, he fumbled in a pocket for a gold crucifix to bring up before her eyes. The sun made the emeralds in the corners, and the rubies that held the Corpus in place at the feet and hands glimmer like over loaded Christmas lights.

No wonder people spent their entire lives digging up the sea to find sunken Spanish galleons. 

He cleared his throat. (Do you have anything to confess?)

She opened her eyes. Confesar? She sighed and shook her head. “No, I’ve already told you everything.” At least she knew there were no mortal sins weighing on her soul and should this treatment be a sign of anything, she’d hoped it could be traded for a little time off in Purgatory. ‘_Purgatorio, Teresita, is exactly like Hell except for one thing: Spes. You make it there, you have Hope.’ Who knows Abuelo, maybe I will see you this afternoon?_

The revelation of her scapular hadn’t convinced them she was telling the truth, the litany of Saints she invoked were not coming to her aid, and she had traded one enemy for another.

Hesitatingly, and with shaking hands, Padre Herrera opened his Missal to begin reading the Rite. A gust pulled off the ocean and touched her fingertips, then moved up spinning in her loose hair. It felt so calm, peaceful.

_No. No! I will not die this way!_ All those things people say should happen before you die – your life flashing before you, a sense of dread meeting your Judgement and having to make an account, fear of the unknown – she felt none of these things. Only Cheche’s face appeared in her mind’s eye_: ‘Mija, do not forget your own worth.’_

She would try one last desperate thing_._

_No time to be shy I guess or worry the notes won’t be on pitch. Thanks Schubert! _

Quietly she began to move her lips and let the sound pass her dry mouth. She noticed the padre didn’t even look up. He simply projected his voice louder in his perfect Ecclesiastic Latin.

Then he stopped with his hand in the air. They locked eyes. “Repeat again what you said?”

He finished the blessing and she breathed in trying to remember all her voice training for those ridiculous plays in High School that Addison convinced her to be in. _Sing, Teresa. Just sing_.

Ave Maria

Gratia plena

Maria gratia plena

Maria gratia plena

Ave, ave, dominus

Dominus tecum…

One by one, the crew in front of her began to kneel, to whisper, to prostrate themselves in prayer, some bringing out their own rosaries and kissing the beads. She focused in on the priest’s hazel eyes so she would not faulter. One tear escaped his awe filled eyes and she knew, she knew she had at least one advocate in this journey.

The crew fell silent, even Bracero had backed his sword away from her.

“Daughter, I need to ask you, again…Are you speaking the truth?” It pained him to ask since he knew her answer.

“Yes. Yes. Please…” she was emotionally done, body too tired to care or fight.

He reached into his habit and pulled out a small portrait. She recognized it. Guadalupe! She opened her mouth to speak…

But at that same moment Salazar came bounding down the stairs, his boots barely touching each step and with a swift motion from his side took his sword and broke the ropes free. As she fell forward from the mast, Salazar caught her, wrapping his arms and pulling her to his chest tight enough that it forced her to gasp for breath.

His men continued to whisper ‘_Santa Barbara, La Virgin, Santa Marina, Santa Casilda.’ _

***

The Capitán Salazar was furious, confused - and in pain. (This is a spell. Nothing takes this form) motioning to her clothing, (or that sound without a deal with the devil!) His ears still rang with her voice. It was beautiful, haunting – soul piercing.

Despite his duty, he wanted to hold her, he felt that he should be holding her, soothing her, but it was easier to push that emotion down and yell and be angry than to try and make sense of the impossible. Because that is exactly what was before him. The impossible. The story, the woman, his feelings.

Now away from the words and eyes of the crew and locked in Salazar’s quarters, Teresa sunk to her knees at his feet.

Padre Herrera laid a challenge before Salazar. (Witness now. If she be from The Evil One, then let Our Lord strike her. But you. No. You will not.)

Kneeling down next to Teresa and speaking quietly he instructed her, “Tell Capitán Salazar what you told me earlier, about how you came to be here”. He then raised his arm to help her back to a chair. At least now she could finally breathe, and the softness of the cushion proved a balm to her aching body.

She attempted to gather thoughts, any thoughts and pour all the truth into them. “I remember… I was on an airplane, my friend and I. We were supposed to be vacationing at a resort in the Turks & Caicos and the flight from Miami isn’t very long. I sensed we were going down but then all I felt was salt water in my mouth and my throat and the airplane was gone and I was washed up on that beach.”

(Airplane?)

“I know! I can’t stand to fly and now I’m totally vindicated right? Look at this mess! Anyway I thought I was going mad but then a ship arrived. Some really, really, smelly dudes put me on their boat and then well, you showed up and started bombing the crap out of it…” She could tell neither one of them could really follow along with her story.

“So here I am. I’m not even sure this is the right time. Somehow” shaking her head, “it’s impossible.”

(You see, she tells you the same thing she told me. Sit down.) Herrera was again, as always, trying to calm down his formidable Capitán.

“No.” Instead he kept himself a distance away for this interrogation, leaning against his desk, head bowed but one hand on his sword. It made him feel in control. He needed to feel in control. 

“How do you know this image daughter?” Fr Herrera took a seat across from her and produced the small painting he had been hiding away in his robes.

Having this man call her ‘daughter’ was going to take some getting used to. 

“I have seen the Tilma,” she spoke with a hesitation as the memory was another reminder that she was lost from friends out on this ocean.

“Seen… La Tilma?” Father Herrera turned his gaze quickly to Salazar who was, at her words, now standing at an uneasy attention. 

“Yes. I took a vacation with my family to Mexico City about 5 years ago and we went to the Cathedral.”

Salazar stepped forward. (Then why is your Spanish so abysmal?) chuckling under his breath and biting into a crisp apple. 

Her head hurt too much to try and fully understand him and that apple against his lips…_Okay, focus_.

“He wants to know why you speak Spanish so…poorly.”

“Where I come from, everyone speaks a mix of English and Spanish. I grew up hearing both. My abuela spoke it at home, and I guess I picked up a few phrases. Most big places like the Cathedral have translators or plenty of people who speak English so I never really payed attention in school, only enough to pass the mandatory classes. I never thought I’d be some place where I’d actually need to use it full time.”

Again, Herrera shot a look at Salazar.

“That is a LIE! More lies! Your tale is only from diablo, the Author of Lies!” El Capitán just gave up a hand in his game. His anger grew up from the middle of his soul until the heat took over his mind. He immediately regretted what he said when he saw the affect his words had on her.

Teresa’s face went red, but her eyes welled with sadness. “*I* lie? You, you speak English?! This entire time?” She should have been angry, but she didn’t have the energy. If she did, she would have asked him what he thought her motivation was, berated him on calling someone he didn’t know a liar, and let him be the recipient of a string of words that would put him in his place. She had spent the last 48 hours defending her life, trading precious memories and gifts just to stay alive, and he was playing games. Nervous laughter, boarding on an anxiety attack, barely escaped her mouth. “No more Padre. I need to sleep. I need food.” She pulled her knees on the chair folding up like a child. HE made her feel like a child.

“Go away. Vas! Comprende?” Mockingly waving her hand in his direction.

Herrera whispered something to Salazar and then left Teresa at the hands of this very confused man who moved, eagerly it seemed, from being on the attack and playing with death to collecting his entire being into a glass vase pleading with someone to caress it gently and move him to a window in the sunlight. The sunlight was warm, but not safe.

“I’ll go. Get that smelly officer to take me back to the prison. I know I am not wanted.” She moved her legs over the edge only to have them run into his. He was towering above her, making her shiver with a strange expectation. _I have given up Capitan. You win. I don’t want to fight you._

“You will stay here. I must quiet my crew. They believe you are - an apparition.”

First accused of being an Amazonian goddess and now an apparition? It was too much and she couldn’t have on her conscience them believing such nonsense. “I will go with you. Go ahead then! Show them my bruised face, my bleeding feet, my tears… my soul… if that will show them the truth.”

Her words torn into the wall of emotion he was buried behind. She was willing to remain injured, to show injuries to keep his crew, HIS crew, who had gone from a mob to an adoring and supplicating audience in a brief moment, out of spiritual error. She was willing to sacrifice herself for their souls?

“No señorita, you will heal. I will calm them. You are no longer my prisoner so long as you reside on The Silent Mary.” There was a different tone in that delicious commanding voice, almost peaceful. He held himself differently too. His shoulders relaxed and his head high. His mind though, it was full of questions he didn’t think possible. Broken soul? Is that how she felt? That he had broken her? Or did the pirates before do this? If they had and this woman, this unusual beauty was telling the truth, it would only build his desire for vengeance. 

She only had time to whisper two things: thank you and sorry, before she collapsed on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our poor Teresa! What happened to her vivacious spirit and bold outlook on life? Where is the music that she always carried so easily? Or is she just hangry and needs a snack? I know I would be. As for El Capitán… Does he have a heart after all? Trying to get as much posted before school starts.   
**As for Armando’s song, I’m inspired by (here goes please don’t judge me) Neil Diamond – Play Me. There I said it. Go listen.** 
> 
> Shakespeare: Merchant of Venice. A good analysis of this play was done by F. Murray Abraham on PBS. (You may recognize him as Antonio Salieri from the film Amadeus)


	5. He Hath Given His Angels Charge Over Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar discovers her medical condition, Teresa & Armando have a moment together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning *hormonally induced panic attack* Not fun, but necessary for plot. All errors are mine. I’ve stared at this long enough my eyes are crossed. I humbly present you with this chapter.

The celeste blue sky was beginning to disappear, crowded with long stretches of white cotton and dark grey clouds. Hovering above those grey clouds, another layer, thinner, a stretched out sheet of washed white felt and the sun rays dancing between the two, sometimes coming all the way down to touch the teal water. Beyond that, the rain falling and reaching the sea formed a curtain of grey streaks. They were headed into a Spring storm on the Atlantic. Lieutenant Guillermo Lesaro pulled his coat sharply over his shoulders and was back on deck, searching for the ship’s physician and cautiously watching those clouds. Teresa’s heart rate was fading and then speeding up, she appeared to be in a cold sweat and his Capitán wanted answers.

The Silent Mary rocked and creaked with the new changing levels of the waves breaking against her hull. Lesaro stood just under the doorway holding his hat down against the increasing wind. 

Raising his head to the air and holding the ship’s wheel steady, Officer Miguel Magda scanned the horizon. He and the weather had an agreement, an understanding, and even as a child he could judge the severity of storms by sound and smell. Today the sea smelled fresh, void of the rotting fish that usually accompanied a warm summer storm.

(What are your thoughts Magda?) Lesaro yelled up over the noise of the wind. 

(Not a bad storm Lieutenant. Should pass through quickly. We saw worse that time in Tripoli. Keep your men at the ready. Santos!) Orders were given that the ship would be ready to face the storm.

Men scrambled around him to tie down what they could and ready the sails. This storm may slow them but if they could get around it just right, it would be behind them and push the great ship slightly faster toward their home port and a land they hadn’t seen in a year: Spain.

A few more weeks and they would be home.

The ship’s physician was an older man, standing much taller than Lesaro, and while he had steady hands for surgery was not used to diagnosing the maladies of the mind. His office was small and cramped and filled with the tools of his trade. At a make-shift bed he was attending one of the sailors who had fallen from the rigging and broken his arm.

Lesaro walked in and the first drops of rain fell from his hat to the floor. (Capitán Salazar needs you. Now.)

With not even a glance up he sharply responded (Lieutenant, I have a patient.)

Antonio Moss grimaced, bordering on a whine. Never had Moss experienced the pain of a broken bone. He had always been a lucky child, taking daring leaps off rock walls that lined the streets or jumping from ropes into the lake by his home without so much as a bruise. His mother would always remind Antonio that he must be Blessed by God to have 3 Guardian Angels watching over him. That reminder did not help him to be more cautious, especially when the boys got together on sweltering afternoons to antagonize the bulls in Don Silva’s estate. Large splinters traced down his back and the physician was trying to set the deep fracture in his arm. 

(Shall I tell him you are not coming then?)

***

Opening the door slowly, Lesaro entered the humid cabin. Teresa lay silent on Salazar’s ornate bed, sweat beading at her forehead, her hands cold and entire body pale. Her feet were bare, with a strange color on top of her nails. Standing the foot of the bed and holding his Missal, Padre Herrera was thumbing through the thin velum pages rapidly, trying to find the right set of prayers to say for this ill soul.

Salazar, instead of giving the two men who could heal her physically and spiritually room to work was hovering at her side, eyes darting between her lips and her own eyes, desperately searching for any sign of movement. He kept his hands folded together, controlling his breathing by focusing on the sound of the rain beginning to fall. It was a scene of impending death. Everyone in that room was preparing for her death. _Lord why do you kill her now? I spared her! Wasn’t that what You wanted? I deserve this. I deserve this for… _

The physician had only seen the woman from a distance, and only this morning when she was tied to the mast. He leaned down to her chest and inspected her closer to confirm this was not the corpse of an incorrupt Saint; only then did he accept he was dealing with a flesh and blood human being.

(We need to get this off her. It’s constricting.) Trouble was, the physician could not figure out how to remove her sweatshirt. (Cut it off. Yes, I will need to do that.)

Capitán Salazar’s desperate mind was in a tumult like the sea around him and he only tolerated the man putting his hands on Teresa in the hope that there was something, any form of physical outward symptoms that would give the doctor a hint of the disturbance.

The shears so close to her body made Salazar’s hands twitch. _If he spills one drop of her blood…_ Lifting her slack body up against his to remove the sleeves, her head flung back and landed heavily on his shoulder. Her cheek lay resting against his, and his tense anger at the physician changed to anxiety. His breathing matched her own – rapid and shallow. Pulling back the sweatshirt revealed the rest of Teresa’s green and white floral dress, a neckline that plunged lower than Armando had anticipated and left her sunburned and blistered shoulders bare. It also revealed her scapular and a strange gold crucifix around her neck. He would have to inspect that closer later.

Just as Salazar had suspected the physician’s advice was utterly useless. (Let her rest. If she wakes, give her water and pray,) he placed a hand on the captain’s arm, (pray she sleeps through this storm.) and left to return below and attend his waiting patient.

Lesaro kept his eyes on his Capitán the entire time. He had known Armando Salazar long enough to be the only one who recognized what sort of pain would cause such a crease on his brow. Comforting his old friend was never easy and Lieutenant Lesaro knew the best thing for all on board would be for Salazar take command of the ship. Give orders. Be at the helm. Take control of the one thing in this situation he could.

(Capitán, we need you to guide The Mary. The storm.) Salazar was silent. (Capitán, come. There is nothing more you can do. Let Herrera pray.)

***

Teresa opened her eyes and the sound of thunder rolling directly overhead frightened her. The good father was kneeling next to her, holding steady a yellowed beeswax candle, the flame being tossed like frantic butterfly wings and leaving a tall column of black smoke in the air above. It seemed the only time Padre Herrera was not hunched over and frail was when he was entrenched in prayer. The sound of his Gregorian chant was even and strong but interrupted.

Teresa tried moving her lips and instead found herself gasping for air to fill her heavy lungs. The pressure on her heart was heavy and pushing against her chest. 

(Senorita, you awaken!)

He stopped praying and placed the candle on the side table and ran out to inform Salazar.

***

Armando’s brown eyes met her olive green eyes. She was the only thing he saw in the room, but she reflected helpless terror. _Calm. You must remain calm_. “You are in my cabin. I - the physician, decided it would be best not to move you across the ship.”

Teresa began mumbling incoherent words. But Lesaro hear one word clearly: Luggage. 

“Herrera, where’s the box?” Lesaro whispered but he didn’t need to. Salazar couldn’t hear him, he was too busy straining to hear Teresa’s broken and slurred words. The priest reminded the Lieutenant that what he was looking for was in the map room.

The wind picked up an enormous amount of speed and Lesaro leaned against The Silent Mary making his way thru the chaos on deck trying to get to the map room. It lay before him shining with iridescent purple unlike anything Guillermo had ever seen before. He hesitated picking it up, moving his hands in various positions before finally deciding to place both hands directly under and laying it across his arms. Lesaro was carrying it across the deck with gentle reverence, like a miraculous sacred statue, shielding it from the rain.

Teresa’s muscles were weak, her mind struggling to remember words and how to describe the white box with blue pills inside, the writing on the outside with her name, so many words, so many words written on the white paper covering the bottle and needing to tell them how to open it. 

There was an argument between the physician and the Capitán as to how gain access to whatever was rattling inside the hard box. Even Lesaro tried and seeing that his Lieutenant had be unsuccessful turning the top around and around, grabbed it out of Lesaro’s hands almost breaking the man’s fingers and forcefully slammed the top of the bottle on the desk leaving an imprint. 

Her heart throbbing irregularly she forced herself to sit up reach out. Salazar placed his hand under hers and wrapped her fingers around the bottle. She pushed down and twisted the top open. A small blue pill landed on palm of her hand.

With whispered and labored breathing she begged, “Water. Please.” She had experienced this wave before – a rush of heat and then cold, and her stomach turning itself inside out and muscles cramping. She wanted everyone in the room out – including Padre Herrera and especially El Capitán Salazar. She wanted it dark so she could ride out the attack. The pain in her stomach, the rocking of the ship made the spinning in her head worse. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on a song, any song, but all the movement in the room distracted her. 

_I need to ground myself._ “Get out! Get out!” Her threat booming against the storm outside.

It was only a quarter of an hour but Salazar could not be sure. The worst of the storm was over. He disregarded Lesaro’s advice and entered his cabin to check on her.

Writhing on the floor, in half darkness, the noise from his entrance spun her back into the attack just as she was started to gain some control. Her skin felt like needles of fire being thrown randomly at her entire being.

“Help. Please help.”

He looked around the dark room not even sure what he is looking for. “I will go to get…”

“No”, raising her hand up to him, her voice brittle. “Don’t. Move. Don’t move.” She slid her legs up and her chin rested on her knees.

Despite her protest he moved slowly toward her and sat on the ground. He would never allow the men out of the uniform but he told himself this was an emergency and placed his coat over her shoulders, holding it there with his warm hands hoping it would help still her cold and shaking body. Salazar had seen this before in some of his men after battle. It was a force of wills between the body and the mind. Memories could cause this reaction, sometimes it would only take the sound of a canon ball dropping on deck.

S_tart over again Teresa. Breath. Concentrate on your surroundings._ _What do you hear?_ The waves hissing and crashing rhythmically on the side of the ship. The gentle rain striking together with the water of the sea and the droplets sounding a hollow echo across the wood of the hull. _What do you see?_ Mostly darkness, a thin line of dull sunlight coming thru the bottom of the door and fluttering through the drawn curtains of a window. _What do you feel?_ The cool floor, the up and down pattern of lines in the wood grain along her fingertips, the comforting weight of his uniform and the stiff fabric of the collar. _What do you smell?_ She wanted to smell the dill and orange blossoms to remind her of home, but instead it was his wet wool uniform, the stuffy humid room, the smell of velum and parchment, the sweet beeswax from Herrera’s candle, and the sea with decaying fish.

Then as quickly as the tumult had begun, it passed. Teresa’s mind was no longer a fog of wandering thoughts and her body returned to peace. Silence.

“Food. Bath.” She looked up at him, embarrassed he had been witness to such emotional instability.

“I will get that ready for you.” He smiled from the side of his mouth, confident the worst had passed and his penance over.

“I’m not good at saying thank you but…thank you.” Her mind finally clearing like the clouds above The Silent Mary.

_I forgot one thing. _

_Taste. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Club Synthroid, Teresa! So she has a pretty common ailment, hypothyroidism. Skipping your dose of medication over a stretch of days and depending on how severe the case has many consequences, panic attacks, depression, muscle fatigue, heart failure being some of them. Told you Lesaro was going to be a cinnamon roll. Like one of those giant ones from Cinnabon only his is made with directly imported cinnamon, not the knock off stuff that passes as cinnamon in most grocery stores today. Yes, Padre Herrera is a Franciscan and not a Jesuit. There is a reason for that which I may or may not add in the story. Anybody know if The Silent Mary’s crew has a named doctor? Probably not?


	6. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace returns to the ship, music returns to her heart, coffee returns to her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh coffee, you have such a wonderfully complex history. Alliteration - I don’t care I like it. It appeals to the poet in me. Second disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the Mouse Movie or musical artist/lyrics are not mine and no copywrite infringement is intended.

Time was touching on twilight when Teresa had enough energy to leave the darkened sanctuary and confront the new world she found herself in. She could not remain shut up in Salazar’s cabin the entire journey even though his bed was unexpectedly comfortable. Maybe it was the smooth undulating pulse of the waves that lulled her to sleep. Or the way he made her feel safe. She did not want to question. Although… He did make it clear she needed to stay elsewhere for the night.

_Grumpy __Capitán needs his sleep_.

The Silent Mary’s immaculately clean decks gleamed purple and pink hues against the reflective clouds from the sunset. It reminded her of the view from the beach and her last dinner with Adie and Cheche. The entire crew stopped when she appeared on deck. Instead being in the warm embrace of friends, now she was surrounded by strangers, military men who spoke a flavor of formal Spanish she was not used to. She was floating on a wooden boat in an unknown part of the Atlantic - an ocean she had only ever seen from the sky. The moment was frozen and she wished she had a camera. They looked like Vermeer paintings. Each sailor frozen in time. She tried to study some of their faces, caught in the soft warm yellow glow of the setting sun. Magic Hour Cheche used to call it before enthusiastically producing his camera. He was almost uncontrollable if he was outdoors during that time, frantically uploading dozens of photos in seconds. He was so proud none of them needed filters. 

Someone was beginning to light the lamps. Tentatively she moved forward walking on bare tip toes. Each face paused to look up at her and then bow as he stepped back. They could not have known exactly what happened only hours ago in Salazar’s quarters, yet they were respectful enough to honor her presence. The wind flew in under her blanket and she shivered. Why did the physician have to cut her sweatshirt again?

On the quarterdeck Officer Santos yelled for them to get back to work and they suddenly came back to life.

Poised like a sentinel, Lt Lesaro stood to greet her. “How is Señorita feeling?”

_Better._ “Hungry.”

“Good. Food is waiting.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, Lesaro correct?” He nodded. “But - shouldn’t you be taking care of more important things? I mean it’s not like I’m physically injured, and the crew are afraid of me?”

“This is true Señorita Teresa.” His curt words were followed by stern silence. He was following orders without question. It was also the first time she heard him say her name.

_Not very forthcoming with information are you?_ _Not Helpful Lesaro. No, I shall call you Lingering Lesaro until you give me your first name. _

“So, any idea where I am to sleep tonight? I hope Capitán doesn’t expect me to sleep on deck. Not that I would complain I’ve slept in worse conditions, but it is cold out here.”

“No, you will be staying in my quarters.” _Oh, maybe that’s why he’s unhappy._ “They are comfortable enough for me but maybe not a lady.” _Did he think the Capitan should have given up _his_ quarters instead?_

_Turns out I can’t read his mind_. “Really? Yours? I feel, I mean, I feel bad for kicking you out.”

“You cannot stay with the crew this is the safest place for you tonight.” He guided her below deck again and around a tight darkened corner to the door of his cabin.

_Ah, safety. Can’t be seen cavorting with the rest of this handsome, and damn each and every one of them had some thing to enjoy, even Bracero. Nice set of shoulders on that one. Needs to turn his temper down a notch though. It’s going to be a long trip to_… “No one has told me where we are going.”

“España.”

“Spain?! Like Europe? Couldn’t you just drop me off in Florida or New York or something? Somehow get me back to California?”

Very confused why she would question his answer he responded, “No, we will go home. España.” He whispered the name into the wind as if he could will it into being right beyond the horizon with only his voice.

_Home to __España_. Heavy Sigh. _Not sure what else I could have expected. At least the French Revolution was a long way off. I think. No Bonaparte_.

He opened the door and motioned for her to go in before him.

_The Turks & Caicos Resort it’s not, but it’s better than the cell with rats._

“There aren’t any rats… are there?”

“No? We have a cat.” He looked both insulted and confused by the question.

“Oh good. Where will you stay?”

Taken back by the question, he looked down at the floor and slightly blushed. “With the other officers of course.”

“Thank you Lesaro. I appreciate it. Everything you have done...”

“Yes Señorita. Good Night.” He shut the door before she could finish.

Teresa stood in the middle of the room, having been handed a bowl of some sort of steaming liquid broth infused with familiar spices of peppers, cumin, and what was that last smell? _A dash of cinnamon_. _Fancy_. Perhaps The Silent Mary was transporting spices too? That would at help her appetite.

Lieutenant Lesaro’s cabin was sparse. Mounted above his bed, a polished ceremonial saber detailed with entwining grape vines on the hilt. She wondered if he ever had an occasion to use it. _I bet he looks dashing_. The rest of the inventory was simple: A map of The Atlantic, a half dozen books - one on navigational devises and another filled with plates of exotic birds - one lone candle in a silver holder, two blankets and a pillow. His space was orderly compared to the luxurious fabrics and gilding of Salazar’s cabin. _Where am I supposed to pee? Oh, there. Great._ Exhausted, she gradually pulled her bruised body under the blankets, not wanting to disturb his orderly home. She adjusted his pillow under her head and wondered if all Spaniards smelled so good. _Nah, he just has good hygiene. I bet he’s hiding some delicious cologne somewhere in here. Probably not regulation either. Hmmm. _

***

Bells cracked through the air at daybreak and Teresa pulled the pillow over her head trying to ignore them. Morning. Another morning in a world not her own and faced with another day where the only company she could keep was a frail Franciscan, a confused yet oddly adorable Lieutenant and a Capitan with a short fuse but a dark and tempting set of vocal chords. The knock at door meant she had no choice but to get out of bed. _I must have slept soundly, maybe Lesaro will be happy to see I didn’t mess up his bed too much_.

Three men greeted her at the door holding behind them a tub. This is what they called it anyway. It was no more than a wide barrel and filled with cold salt water. One of the men placed a stool down next to her and handed her a blanket. 

(Señorita, Capitán sends this for you.) and promptly left.

_Are you kidding me?! You’ve got to be joking. Okay, okay, let’s pretend we’re going for a swim in the ocean. That’s pretty much what we’re doing isn’t it?_ She peered down into the barrel of waist high water, her reflection rippling inside. _Yikes. I don’t care what’s in this water, I need to clean off. How do I lock the door_? There is no lock on the door. _ Of course there’s no lock on the door! Not really up for showing the Spanish Armada my bare backside. How’d they do this? Oh yes!_ She remembered a scene from a movie and shoved Lesaro’s sword in the door handle.

_Cold water, cold water, don’t think about it just get in and wash off Teresa. _

The swells outside the ship grew and the water in the barrel started sloshing around. _If only my friends could see me. I am now the official winner in the Drought Shower Competition_. Exiting the barrel was not any less precarious than getting in and now she had the added torture of being freezing cold with wet hair. The wool blanket was scratchy and did not absorb any moisture. _Whose bright idea was this? Wool, sheep. Water runs off. I mean these guys have to be smarter than that right? Welcome to my new normal? Alright then. Let’s make the best of it. _And deciding to distract herself from the cold wind began to sing again.

Every day she takes a morning bath, she wets her hair Wraps a towel around her As she's heading for the bedroom chair It's just another day Slipping into stockings Stepping into shoes Dipping in the pocket of her raincoat Ah, it's just another day At the office where the papers grow she takes a break Drinks another coffee And she finds it hard to stay awake It's just another day Du du du du du

_Wait_…_Coffee_?

Teresa’s eye shot open. _Coffee. Yes. Real, actual, coffee_. Not the smell of rich coffee, but it was coffee none the less. _Forget the bath, this day just got 100% better. _She was forced to get back into her same clothes and wrapped her torn sweatshirt around her and brushed her fingers through her hair. _Wonder if he has a belt I can borrow?_

Fog languidly wrapped its way around the ship, slowing being broken open by the rising heat of the morning sun. Moss & Santos were the only two she could clearly see and they looked over at her with timid smiles.

“I smell coffee. I haven’t had coffee in exactly 5 days.” She walked up to Santos, green eyes to green eyes, (a lethal combination or like two opposing magnets) squinted and almost grabbing his lapel, “Café senor. _Dónde_?”

He laughed and held up his cup with one hand while pointing to it with another. (Coffee. We have coffee. But, you need Capitán Salazar’s permission to have any.)

“Then I am going to find him. (Permission) to have coffee.” She scoffed at his words and pushed through both men. “He must be mad.”

(I think I may like this señorita!) Moss shook his head and took a long a sip from his cup, the steam warming his face.

She had turned into the human equivalent of a drug sniffing dog. It was coming from above her, hunting the pungent aroma up the stairs and up again until she reached the quarterdeck. There it is. The Capitan’s quarters. 

_Knock. Nothing is going to keep you from fresh brewed coffee. _

Padre Herrera shuffled to the door and opened it only enough for her to see the faces of the men at the table. They looked guilty, like children being caught stealing the last piece of Turrón.

“I don’t suppose you have saved some for me?”

“Yes, of course Señorita …” Lesaro stumbled for a moment as he pulled a chair out for her to sit.

She realized he was searching for her last name.

“Romero.”

“Señorita Romero.”

“I take my coffee very seriously Capitán. Except when it’s Autumn. For some reason at that point everyone goes for pumpkin spice. Then it’s not Advent until you’ve had your peppermint mocha. Speaking of chocolate…”

(Chocolate!) Santos had followed her to the door and listened in, peeking around the corner. Padre Herrera caught his eye and he shyly slid back into the woodwork.

“Now, if you please. Café?” Herrera poured a cup, slowly, each of them looking only at her avoiding looking at each other. It was black, but steaming and it smelled so, so good. She wrapped her hands around the cup, warming them and curling up with it greedily.

“5 days without you, you beautiful, decadent, alluring, beverage. Sweet Elixur of Life”, speaking to the dark brew, she placed it to her lips to sip. 

Capitán Salazar cleared his throat to say something. She put her finger to her lips…

and shushed him.

She shushed El Capitán.

He looked at her with astonishment. She refused to meet his gaze. _Yes, even you __Capitán Salazar shall be hushed. _

“_No one_ speaks until I have had my coffee. Do not give me any of your nonsense until I have finished this cup.” Again, she brought the cup up to take a drink, and almost spit out the entire first gulp. Grounds! _Oh well. Another thing to work on. Be grateful for what you have. _

“Thank you Señors.” With no other words from any of the men, she rose from the table, took her cup and sat outside his quarters in the morning air. Teresa spent the morning watching the men work and climb like with the agility only sailors know, shouting out complex directions in melodic Spanish. As the fog parted around her, she was sure that this day – the first day with coffee after a week, must be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: Another Day – Paul McCartney & Wings. I could not for the life of me remember the word sentinel. I wanted to describe it as “pillar bird” so from now on, that’s how it shall be known.


	7. Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life on board The Silent Mary takes some getting used to. Teresa is prepared to share technology from the future, but what will El Matador think of it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet.

Her body sighed.

Her heart sighed.

Her soul sighed.

Blue the Atlantic may be, but that seemed to be where the similarities between the Oceans both began and ended. She expected to see or hear more wildlife. Her grandfather had spoken of flying fish and dolphins that liked to ride along side the great battleships he journeyed on in the Pacific. The spray crashing over the edge that at times reached her face turning her lips salty seemed different too. It was course, more acidic. She knew almost nothing about this ocean other than it was taking her far away from California, possibly forever, to Spain.

‘España.’

The sound of Lesaro’s voice kept repeating in her mind. Still, she felt an odd wave of calm and serenity. Her body was being lulled by The Mary’s constant rolling side to side. The ship was a mother rocking her child to sleep under the warm midday sunlight.

“I would like to talk to you about something.” Capitán Salazar’s voice made her entire being jump. A body as tense as his should not be allowed to stand so close to an almost sleeping human.

_Oh great. That is one of the worst combinations of words ever in the history of language, even if it is delivered though those gorgeous but chapped lips_.

“Come with me.”

He brought her, and only her, back to the beginning. To the room with the maps and the painting of the Madonna and the oranges in a bowl. Back to the mahogany desk that sat imposingly in the middle of the room like a throne. Scroll work set as winding serpentine legs supported the large dark wood block. Blue lapis carved into the edges formed a rolling line of cresting waves around the entire top. The corners had carved half shells kissed by expertly gilded beading. This was a desk designed for The Silent Mary, for her alone. Salazar’s family crest was inlayed on the center, studded with more gilding and red jasper and Baltic amber.

Hesitation underscored his question. “I understand you have kept your ‘medicine’?”

She pulled the lifesaving box from her pocket and rattled the pills inside. “Yes. Thank you for letting me keep them with me.” 

“Good, good. Understand as Capitán, I must know what else is in this box.” Such confidence from a man who is face to face with an enigma. Teresa didn’t answer as quickly as he wanted. “I can ask you again politely, or I can open it right now with force. Which do you choose?”

“It’s called a carry-on.” Teresa held her breath. No man would order her around as much as this one attempted to, not after the hotel incident. _Defuse the situation._

“Carry on?”

“I’m sure you have the same type of thing on board. Trunks of things you bring from home. Clothes. Soap.” _Soap and shampoo. I could use another bath with those! And toothpaste_! “Stuff you need for emergencies. First Aid Kit, shoes, presents you buy to bring back as souvenirs.”

“Do you have any souvenirs?”

“Sand from that island.” She smirked. He did not.

“Show me.” He turned sharply toward her, his jaw line cutting an intense angle against his neck.

_Moment of truth._

“Right now?” _He doesn’t know how to ask politely for anything does he?_ Teresa did not want to open the chaotic insides of her luggage to the light of day. Not in front of this man anyway. She could imagine him demanding that she take each piece out and the deathly embarrassment she would feel if he ever laid eyes on her more intimate items.

“Maybe some other time?”

He was unmoved.

“If you let me open it, alone, I will bring out one item.”

Salazar found this agreeable and left the room. She looked around, opened it quickly and first found her headphones and player.

_Sweet, sweet music! _“I hope the batteries work.”_ What if future technology doesn’t work here?! What if The Doctor shows up and starts saying things like ‘wibbly wobbly timey wimey’ and throws me in a phone booth? _“Adie gave me that solar charger! Yes! Thank you for being the awesome techie!”_ Hmm, while I’m in here,_ she quickly sorted out some clothes. One step closer to feeling human again. She slid on her navy blue deck shoes. _Funny these were supposed to be for a yacht excursion not a Spanish galleon. _

Salazar must have only paced the corridor once because as she was still returning items to their rightful place, she heard his boots enter the doorway. She had to close the luggage, clothing almost hanging out, and she slammed her pinkie on the lock. _Ouch! Son of a_ … and instinctively placed the injured finger to her mouth to soothe the pain and hide the injury from him.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see. Actually, I need to make sure it’s not broken first, or water hasn’t gotten into it. See – proof of from the future.” She put the headphones on and turned on the devise.

You used to ride on a chrome horse with your diplomat

Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat

Ain't it hard when you discovered that

He really wasn't where it's at

After he took from you everything he could steal

How does it feel, how does it feel?

To have on your own, with no direction home

Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone

…Go to him he calls you, you can't refuse

When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose

You're invisible now, you've got no secrets to conceal

How does it feel, ah how does it feel?

To be on your own, with no direction home

Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.

He watched her sway subconsciously to the song and the smooth way her mouth formed words but she was not singing them, not letting him hear the music.

“You see, it’s a wonderful devise and now that I have kept my part of the deal, I have a request Capitán.”

“Si?”

“Another bath please?” _And I’m going to give the orders on how to prepare it!_

He laughed and for the first time she looked, deeply looked, at the prominent features of his face. His upturned smile that molded into creases formed on his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes sent a shot of heat immediately through her. The way his black hair swept into a precise knot. _Keep it together T. Don’t look too close at his eyes. _But she knew it was going to be his smile that would do her in. 

“Yes, you may.”

She gathered her things under her right arm as Salazar took her left arm and placed it on top of his. He was going to escort her out of this room with all the dignity he of a noble lady. He must not have been thinking too much about how she felt, because Teresa was blushing the color of amaranth blossoms from his gesture.

Bracero stepped behind her and whispered, (Enjoy your bath senorita?)

Teresa only clenched her teeth and kept walking with Salazar along the side of the ship, but Lieutenant Lesaro heard him and pulled him to the side away from the rest of the crew. (Bracero, what do you mean?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: Like a Rolling Stone – Bob Dylan. Thank you for your patience dear reader while we set up the more romantic, I mean, adventurous part of the story. This is turning into a Mouse Musical. Sheesh. Blue Lapis has been prized for ages and carries an immense amount of symbolism: ability to use clear logic even in the middle of heated argument or difficult discussion, (not that Salazar the Catholic would have thought a stone to carry power) and the obvious symbol blue of water.


	8. You and the Night and the Music, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, Timekeeping, and Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in, things are picking up. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for being patient with me.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully and this time she was give some hard bread with the broth for midday. Dinner wasn’t much better and she had to eat separately from the crew, even from the Officers. _Tomorrow’s agenda, find the kitchen_. Teresa resigned herself to obeying a curfew like a teenager on probation. Capitán Salazar, in his indominable manor, explained that when Padre Herrera began Compline she was to immediately stop what she was doing and go to Lesaro’s quarters, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Stuck in Lesaro’s room at night instead of being able to stay up and watch the sky open to fill with stars she’d only read about being able to see outside city lights relinquished her hopeful thoughts. Melancholy wrapped itself around her heart.

Pondering the heavens, she heard Salazar’s voice carry across the ship and the lights from his quarters reflect and dance in the water below. They must have maneuvered around the storm the way Magda wanted too. Waves slipped across the hull rapidly. It reminded her of a vacation she took with her family when she was 8. She was carried from her bed in the early morning hours to the car and buckled in, still half asleep. She woke up in bright daylight somewhere in the Central Valley, the hills on either side of her brown and gold and covered in parched grasses, dotted with sprawling deep green hued oak trees. They were driving down Highway 5 on the way to Bakersfield. Between the Coast Ranges and the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range, she passed the time by staring at the produce fields rushing by. Tomatoes, grapes, wheat, row after row of perfectly lined bunches of lettuce and strawberry plants that seemed to go from the side of the highway all the way to the bottom of the hills, moved in her bleary vision like watching old film caught off track.

Time for sleep again. There was a missing blanket. She assumed Lesaro must have come in to retrieve it during the day.

The Silent Mary was very adept at rocking Teresa to sleep but tonight she wanted to hear something more than waves and shuffling of the crew tending to the sails. She laid on her back with her headphones and programed the device to play Mozart’s Piano Concerto 21, twice. _That should be enough to fall asleep to. _

And it was.

Until.

Her eyes flew open.

“Hello?”

There was a figure, tall, swaying with the motion of the ship, hovering in the corner of the room next to the door. _Something_ was there because it made the floor creak.

“Lesaro? Padre Herrera? It’s okay.” sleepily stretching to raise her body up to try and see what or who made the noise. “I’m awake.”

The dark and vague figure moaned. A brittle “No” escaped into the night air. A shallow lengthy breath followed. (How is this possible?)

The creak of a single step came toward her, heavy and unsteady on the wood floor and then -

Silence.

Dill.

Sea Salt.

Orange Blossoms.

“Cheche!?” She frantically knocked over the candle to pull her rosary from her sweatshirt pocket. The beads forced imprints on her fingers from holding it so tightly.

She must have yelled her friend’s name because there was an immediate knock on the door. From behind it she heard a comforting voice.

“It is I, Lesaro. Señorita, is everything well?”

“Yes. I thought, I thought I saw someone.” Her hands trembling still clenching her rosary.

He leaned into the doorway and swept the darkness with a lantern.

“There is no one here. If you are not feeling safe I stay with you.”

“I would appreciate that Lieutenant.” She adjusted the blankets across her lap. He really did have a soothing voice. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I am on duty for the nights while you are on board.”

“I thought you would sleep down with the rest of the men.”

“Yes yes. Capitán and I had a,” he tilted his head up, his one good eye looking in the direction of Salazar’s quarters. “disagreement about that. So now, you sleep here at night and I”

“And you come in here and sleep during the day? Oh Lesaro I’m so sorry.” Someday she should like to ask him about that missing eye. _I bet he lost it in a daring duel with that sword! _

“No Señorita Romero, I do not mind. It is better than being surrounded by.” He stopped himself. It would not have been honorable to speak of the crew in the manner he was thinking.

Capitán Salazar slept very well, as he usually did when he reflected on the fact it was because of his actions there were no pirates to encounter in these waters. Yesterday though, held too many revelations for him. This woman, Teresa Romero, proved she was from another time, proved she was willing to obey, and yet she also proved she had a temper. And then there was Bracero to deal with.

Padre Herrera was finishing saying Lauds as Salazar passed by the room where he was praying on his way to see Teresa. Her door was cracked open and he could see her sleeping, curled up in the heavy dark blue and maroon striped blanket. He smiled. She too then must have slept peacefully. As he turned to go, he saw across from her bed a set of boots on a footstool, with a sword laying across the man’s lap and it stopped his attention. One of his men was not where he ought to be. Salazar drew his sword and swung the door open loudly. Teresa turned over, moaning and covering her head with the blanket. Guillermo Lesaro stood up to attention.

(Lesaro! What are you?!)

(Shhh…She is still sleeping.) 

(What are you doing in here?) Salazar’s eyes were wide and full of fire. Life-long friends they might be, but he would still defend Teresa’s honor if needed.

Lesaro shook his head, knowing his Capitán was overreacting. (Capitán, she woke from a nightmare last night and did not feel safe. I offered to stay with her.)

That was enough to calm Salazar and he sheathed his sword. (Thank you Lesaro.)

(Yes Capitán. Duty first, yes?)

Salazar turned to leave. (Yes, duty first.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well. What do we think of this? Do you think Salazar and Lesaro were discussing only sleeping arrangements? Obey El Matador del Mar and he will reward you. Disobey… there are always consequences. Descriptions of the ship and Teresa’s surroundings will build in detail as she accepts her new life. The more she accepts it, the more the reader sees too. Second part of this chapter should be ready in a few days. I hope this holds you over until then.


	9. You and the Night and the Music, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Officers are presented with a concert, and so is Teresa.

The sun traveled its bowing course in a calm blue sky above the ship. Like everything else in and around The Silent Mary, Capitán Salazar’s power to order and control life’s movement possibly extended to the very heavens. He could not, however, control Teresa. During her afternoon walk she discovered a nervous restlessness that started in her feet and as the day continued a steady progression marked by Herrera’s bells of the Divine Liturgy, the sickening feeling moved its way up to her head, now crammed with so many ways this could all go wrong.

Thankfully after supper there was a bath waiting in her room. A real bath. In a big curved tub with soap and shampoo and exquisitely hot water. Clean face, clean hair, clean clothes! It was then she noticed she had not seen Bracero all day. She kind of missed that guy. He was so tough around her, trying to intimidate her and yet she worried what about what may have happened in his childhood that made him grow into such and angry man, like a little brother who was acting out of jealousy. There was no time to ponder these things, a more terrifying prospect loomed. Part of the deal for this luxurious bath she sunk into was to present two songs to the Officers. ‘Now let me see if I have anything in Spanish’, she whispered to herself earlier in the map room, but apparently not quiet enough because _he_ heard it. ‘Yes, Spanish. Good.’ Salazar had replied before he left her standing alone, perfectly stunned and mouth agape. 

_Damn it._

_Really? Really? Finally getting on the good side of these people, they want to hear the music and all I’ve got in Spanish are these two?_ She laughed and thanked herself that she ignored Addison’s insistence to put La Bamba on the tracks. _Could you imagine? __Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan_. Even the thought made her blush. _Well, it was a good run_. 

***

The wind that had been forcing their journey home suddenly and quietly died. The great ship was becalmed. Evening settled in and the stars one by one, pointed their light from the blackness of the sky into shapes and patterns familiar to every sailor aboard.

Padre Herrera finished his evening prayers and the bell on The Silent Mary rang while Capitán Salazar gathered his Officers on the quarterdeck.

“Silencio!”

Brought before him again like a prisoner, only instead of her body being in shackles it was her mind held bound by doubts, she walked up the stairs to the waiting men_. Now I know why the call them deck shoes._ The white soles and laces contrasted sharply against the navy canvas and gripped the slick wood, keeping her from tripping. Her feet were starting to sweat and she longed for the breeze she felt a mere week ago in the coconut shack in Florida. Unprepared fingers twitched while attempting to adjust the headphones so each man would be able to listen in. The wires were tangling in around themselves and yet no amount of twisting helped straighten them.

“In my quarters.” Striking forceful words ordered the men into Salazar’s private office.

The memory of twisted agony laying on the floor made her avoid walking on that spot in the room. Trying to stall for time, she sat down on a chair, then got up again, then moved to the other side of a desk, then moved again. It was no use. Salazar would have her press that play button even if it took her being at the end of his sword.

The slim black and silver device cradled in a reflective dark teal case lay cold on his desk, headphones turned outward and the volume as high as it would go. It emanated an unnatural blue glow in a room otherwise only illuminated by tall hand-dipped candles.

_This is how it is going to go down. If I survive the night it will be a bona fide miracle. Abuela could now dance in Heaven!_

The first notes played. 

And she had to get away. She had to get to the furthest part of the ship she could and bury deep into the darkest recesses of The Mary herself but she was trapped there, Santos guarding the door and Lesaro standing by him. _I knew this was a bad idea. I couldn’t play Mozart?! Oh no, he insisted on Spanish._

_I am totally one hundred percent blaming Addison for this. _

_When I get back and see her – oh why? Is it hot around here? Yes let’s take some silly fun stuff we can sing karaoke to. Yes that’s wonderful idea! Is it over? I’m gonna die. They are going to kill me. Bracero is going to walk up here and throw me overboard as a heretic. Poor Padre?! Sweet innocent Padre Herrera! What have I done? Agggg. Of all the terrible terrible ideas Addison has ever had. I hope she’s happy to know she is the cause of my anguish_.

Teresa timidly looked over shoulder, sure that every being in that room knew the palpitations coming from her chest were going to explode before this was over.

There stood El Capitán. Not moving. At all.

“Oye como va…” An audible gasp released from the Officers and even the Capitán opened his eyes, forcing himself to stare out the grand windows behind her into the distance at the delicate place where the ocean met the sky. 

_I’m going to die. Music does not soothe anything. Who said it did?_ Rubbing sweaty hands together, the friction of electric charges of anxiety poured out her palms.

Then it was over.

(Enough.)

_This was such a bad, bad idea_.

An uneasy Santos leaned into Lesaro. (Shall I lock her in the brig now?) Lesaro was being to fear for her.

Turning off the device she scrambled to hide the headphones in her sweatshirt. They had physically survived the song. Mentally though, Teresa was sure each one of the them deserved multiple sessions on Freud’s infamous couch.

(And the second?) Capitán Salazar stood with his hands clenched together behind his back. That was the deal. Two. (Let us see if she keeps her agreement.)

“Next…second. Yes,” she whispered in shock.

Desperation to escape was an understatement.

“I’d like, I, need to, would you mind if I spoke to Padre in private first?” There were no clear words, no clear thoughts forming in her mind that expressed her anxiety.

Salazar dismissed the Officers and left Teresa alone with a startled and confused Padre Herrera, who standing alone in a corner gripped his boney hands in prayer silently mouthing The Holy Names over and over again.

Outside the door, Lesaro refused to look at his Capitán and Santos, poor Santos, was mentally preparing to hear orders from Salazar that would finally yet gruesomely put an end to this woman by sentencing her to face a personal interrogation with the Governor of Cadiz.

Gently she walked over to speak with Herrera. “I don’t think I should play the other one, but I don’t want to disobey his orders and make him more angry than I already have. Do you, please Padre, do you think you could change his mind?”

Padre Herrera knew his first duty was the care of souls on this ship. If what she had next on that metallic box was as disturbing as what he just heard, he must make a fateful decision for them all. “Tell me about it first and then we can decide.”

“The song is, it’s dark.”

“Dark?”

“Where I come from you have to understand that people want to get away – they embrace the darkness. There aren’t, there aren’t many faithful anymore. It’s a poem of pain and anger and they would rather be consumed by the darkness. To have everything around them black – even their own heart – if it means they can escape the pain.”

“Is it really that bad child?”

“Worse sometimes,” she answered, waiting for Herrera’s judgement and nodding her head.

“Then why?”

“Why listen to it? Because it’s a juxtaposition. The words are harsh but delivered on a melody that cuts to the soul and makes you feel, feel emotions that you never otherwise could.”

The candlelight in the room flickered briefly, concentrating the bending light on the creases in Herrera’s face. His mind had retreated deep into prayer, seeking consolation from the noise still vibrating in his mind.

The voices between them were hushed.

“Thank you for believing me. I still cannot understand why I’m here. I keep trying to go over it in my head. It must be good for my soul, a lesson. I try to think of St. Ignatius and Discerning the Spirits but I can’t make out why this is happening.”

That name ignited him. “St. Ignatius? You are constantly surprising me with your catechesis daughter!”

“Yes yes. I’ve even done a retreat. Well it was a shortened one, not the 30 days I guess you might have.” 

“But you wear a symbol of the Carmel?” 

“The Holy Mother asked us to. Where I am from, all the charisms of the Church must interact with each other. We are free to investigate and learn from all of them.” It was only more questions that lined his face. “I haven’t taken any vows if that’s something that has been bothering you.”

“I see.” He pulled out the painting of Guadalupe that he had shown her on the first day, the same one he made her swear on when she arrived and that sealed to the priest that she understood her immortal soul would parish if she was lying. It was more for his comfort, knowing he had a battalion of spiritual weapons should he be wrong about this girl.

“I think you are correct. This song must not be announced. I will talk to El Capitán.”

Salazar had been listening at the door. The way she spoke of darkness, of escaping pain - he understood. Maybe this song could soothe some of the pain in his own heart? He must know. He must hear it no matter Herrera’s judgement. When she exited his quarters Teresa ducked to avoid Salazar but he caught her arm, his grip painful enough that she winced.

“Stay in Lesaro’s cabin until I send for you.” 

***

The conversation between priest and captain was not peaceful. Salazar yes had a commanding voice but when he yelled she could hear his words across ship. Even The Silent Mary seemed to quake with the reverberation of his vexation. Finally she could not take it anymore, ran across the ship, and broke into the room.

Breathless, she made her own command. “Stop! I will not have you attack this man!” placing herself directly between them. “Capitán Salazar! Do you see yourself attacking an Alter Christus? Would you also attack me?”

The priest stood disarmed behind her. Salazar put his fist down and stepped back, slightly bowing his head to one side in a gesture of false humility. 

(Forgive me, Padre.) “Now leave this room.”

Taking the poor frightened priest’s arm, Teresa allowed Herrera to lean on her in a way that took not only the weight of his body but the weight of his soul.

“Not you Señorita Romero. You, (you, will play the song) For me.” Strange thing about being passionately frustrated – it made him forget which words he spoke to her in English and which he spoke in Spanish.

The rapid beating of her heart froze against the heavy breath in her lungs. It was not a request. An order. An order from a man that normally she would have fought about. Fought him and told him he had no real authority over her. He was not her father, her brother, her husband, her boss, nor her Bishop. He had no right to order her to do anything. Then she remembered that this was his ship and he had not asked much, not really, from her over these last days. It was that fact that gave him authority over her.

“Very well Capitán Salazar. I think you should sit down.” _I should sit down_. If he was going to address her formally, she was to match him. “I’d like a drink though before we start.”

Irritated, he sighed and reached for a small glass container of fresh water.

“I don’t know why you don’t have anything stronger,” she said frustratingly_. A paloma would be nice_.

Why was she getting so worked up? Was it such an evil song? Would it release some evil into the world that had not been there before? It was only the two of them listening, and she had heard it so many times. But not like this. The two of them standing in his quarters. Alone. That should have been a comforting thought instead of the terrifying feeling anchored in her stomach.

Surprisingly he stepped to a detailed niche in the wall and opened it up, then paused. The bottle was slightly dusty but part of a lovingly balanced puzzle. “I have to keep them locked in here.”

“Is all of that - _wine_?”

There was the smirk that made her collapse inside. “What do you know of wine?” asking as he poured two glasses. Salazar had many questions for her tonight which he had every intention of gaining answers to.

“What do I not know! I am from California. We have hundreds of wineries, even beating out the infamous French!”

This piqued his interest. “Tell me what this is.” He filled a glass with dark ruby liquid, brought it to his mouth and covered his lips with a sweet stain.

Scent is an entirely too strong reactor of memories. The three day weekend Cheche, Addison and she spent in Paso Robles driving from winery to winery with side trips to the coast penetrated her thoughts. August was too hot to be inland but the zinfandels, especially the unusually peppery ones, and pinos grew best in the little valley. 

A single sip carefully entered her mouth. “I thought this was a dry ship, Capitán.” 

“It is,” cocking his head toward the door, “for them.” He languidly placed himself in the middle of the settee across from her. “We will listen together Señorita Romero.”

_Together? Like on the same couch together next to each other? _

That was his intention as he motioned her to sit beside him. 

_Stop stalling. I’ll stall if I want to! You’ll only make him angry…_

One more deep breath inhaled, and she took her first actual drink. Dry on the back of her tongue, warm and ripe summer cherries and herbs, and when she parted her lips to take in a breath across her lips, the final note of pepper. “And this, is a Tempranillo.”

Teresa sat down on the settee in a manner that would make the royal family applaud.

“Begin.”

She brought the player to her hand, opened the headphones again, and touched the screen. The blue radiance glinting off their half filled glasses of wine and reflected in his dark intense eyes.

The guitar rift began as he closed those eyes. The drums pounded. He took in a heavy breath and felt his insides tighten.

“No se que pasa que lo veo todo negro.” 

The rhythm to this song was much faster than he had expected. It consumed him so much he almost did not hear the words begin. It sounded like anger, longing, passion. War. War within. The song closed just as quickly as it had begun. Why didn’t this make her want to die of embarrassment and sink directly into the sea? 

Sitting there with no condemnation, no denunciation, only inquest he softly asked, “You like this song?”

“Yes, actually. Probably very wrong of me, but I do like it. They used to play it, well the English version, for soldiers in this terrible war that my grandfather had to…” her voice trailed off. 

Ah, so he was correct. It had a tone of war. “Thank you for this.” 

“You are welcome.” He turned from her and paused. She finished her glass and set it down on a small table next to her, then picked up her device from her lap. “Well, I should probably go.”

“Why is it wrong that you like it?” The tone meant she was not yet dismissed.

“Would you like another drink Capitán?” Any excuse to walk away from him.

“Si. I asked you a question.”

“It speaks to me. I can’t explain it. There is power in music.” The second drink sufficiently poured she gave the bottle a quick twist to stop it from dripping. Now she stood directly in front of the still seated Capitán, vulnerable, holding both their glasses. Casually his hands claimed the drink from her. 

And his fingers brushed hers. 

“Finest from Navarra. Do you like it?”

“It’s warm. It penetrates your being.” Immediately she regretted her words.

Those brown eyes gazed at her over the glass he again held to his lips, and he raised an eyebrow.

“The music. Does.” _That came out all wrong._ Looking down at her hands, the hands he had just touched, afraid to meet his eyes she asked, “Don’t you have music that does that to you?”

(Certainly).

“I wish I could hear it.” _Oops_. She said it out loud.

Separating himself from the golden brocade of the settee he walked to the corner by the great window and produced what she only recognized as a small guitar. _He plays the guitar_. _Of course he friggin’ plays the guitar. Ughhh. _

“You honored my request. I shall honor yours.” 

The song was not complex figure work, it was something more accustomed to a student but then she reminded herself that the entire Romantic period hadn’t even happened and that all the acoustic guitar she was used to hearing was of a slightly different shape and design than the one he was holding. And oh how he was holding it. Gently balanced on his knee, his broad fingers moving in slow fluid grace with the notes up and down the neck. He was all confidence playing. _Did this man do anything without confidence? _

She studied the anguish waving across his face. The way the notes rose from his fingertips. They way his shoulders hunched over and then picked up again. The way his eyes would close tightly and then a peaceful wash of intense devotion filled the area around his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks when the song ended. 

He waited for her to speak but it was clear she had nothing to say. Awkward silence forced a gaze between them. She tried to open her mouth. _Say anything, anything at all_. “Beautiful,” was all that came out. He smirked.

“Capitán Salazar. I have…”

“Please, address me when we are in my quarters using my first name. Armando.” 

“Armando. It suits you.”

“What does that mean?” deliciously slipping his tongue and lips on the edge of the glass.

“It’s a strong name but a romantic one I think.” _Stop talking Teresa_. “It flows off” _stop already, you’re over stepping, “_the tongue.” _Okay, no more drinking with this guy._ Gathering herself back from the edge of needed to reach out and knock the glass out of his hand she repeated, “I have a request.”

“Ah, of course. Another bath?” The words skimming from his lips like he was imagining her in it. He leaned to put the guitar down and strands of hair loosened to fall in his face. Internally he was beginning to think he would grant any request of hers without a thought, but years of Naval discipline let him keep his head.

“No. Something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music – Santana (originally written by Tito Puente) – Oye Como Va / Los Salvejas – Todo Negro / Luis de Narváez: Passeavase El Rey Moro  
I spent hours listening to Spanish Baroque Guitar & Francisco Tarrega (later time period than our setting but still beautiful) whilst writing this. I suggest you treat yourself and listen too.


	10. Hablamos Español

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A denial, a trial, and a lesson in communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a million interruptions, including brief illness, this chapter is finally done. Please forgive any grammatical mistakes, some are stylistic and some are because my head still hurts.

“I believe you are holding something of mine hostage.” _Like my brain_. Teresa could not stop staring into his dark eyes.

“Ah, the ‘carry-on’”. Hostage was an interesting choice of word. He liked it.

“Yes. I would like that back.” The wine took hold of her. _Don’t hiccup in front of El __Capitán. _

Placing his glass down on the desk and walking toward the door, “You understand our agreement. Show me the contents.” Now guarding the only exit, Salazar was resolved to hear her concede to his demand - tonight. No more delaying.

Teresa saw his attempt and impulsively moved in the same direction. “Good night Capitán,” daring to push against the solid figure in the way. This gilded ostentatious room could not hold her if she did not want to be held. Its owner proved a more difficult thing to withdraw from. 

“No? You will not?” he stepped closer and with half closed eyes bent down to meet her face. “Another drink?”

Those lips so close, the breath of wine settling between their faces. “No Armando. I will not open it under, while you are watching. There are, please understand there are personal things in there.” Tears began in the inner corner of her eyes. She refused to give them a chance to live while in his presence. “Why won’t you respect that?”

“I am sorry, Señorita Teresa,” he seized hold of her arm.

“Teresita.” 

Her eyes immediately moved to the place where his hand was squeezing the blood from her arm. “I did not give you permission to call me by that name,” sharp words produced from a sharp tongue. Useless. He did not need to ask permission. Permission was written on her face.

“I was hoping that you would stay. You know I want you to stay.”

Truth be told her question was infuriating, an emotion made pellucid by the copious amount of alcohol in his veins. Such strong wine it was.

Beautiful.

Luscious.

Strong.

The color in her cheeks flushed and unlike her tears she had no control over the heat igniting in her core.

“Armando.” Crossing her arms and defiantly stepping away.

“Si?” his grip lightened and he allowed her to move back, just enough to see her entire face burn red and her eyes swell.

“If you will not give it back, I am leaving.” _No way in hell am I going to let a man, anyone, make me feel inferior ever again. _

His body shifted and he stood up straight.

And he opened the door to the vast night air. 

“Dismissed.”

Simple as that and with an alluring bow, he called her bluff.

Teresa gave herself no choice, virtually plunged into the night by his word. The decks and rigging of The Silent Mary were never, as the name may have given an impression, silent. Teresa passed Officer Santos and Lieutenant Lesaro without a word, without a glance, hiding her face from the rising moon, the stars, from the world touching the heavy covers of darkness.

The ladder blurred as she tried to navigate the darkness to blessed seclusion. The door was jammed and she hit the handle until it almost broke. She was livid. A shoe launched across the room and met with a crack against the window. _Stupid cocky bastard. Who does he think he is? Go ahead El __Capitán. You think you’re so smart!_ She threw the other shoe and it landed under the bed. _Oh and another thing, Mister Exalted-of-the-Seas. I’d rather kiss Bracero!_ Throwing Lesaro’s blanket, she buried herself in the covers. Was it the combination of lack of food and profusion of wine or just the presence of the man that made her head and body ache? Damn she wanted to kiss him. Painfully she wanted to. The tears she so heroically held back in his quarters fell uncontrollably into the pillow.

Tears of tension and defiance and exhaustion. 

Salazar, now despondently alone with his own thoughts, poured himself another drink, sat back in his chair and remained unmoved until the candles extinguished themselves at first light.

***

_Get up Teresa_.

An extended “Why?” she threw to the morning. Cold aching feet impacted with the hard floor. Refusing to fully open her eyes to that infernal sunlight, her toe slammed into the corner of the bed. Her manicure was all but gone, just a few flecks of color left on her now throbbing big toe. _This will not do. Why is it sooooo bright today?_ Into this morning air she fumbled for the white bottle. Each time she removed one more pill she shook the bottle, listening for a miraculous multiplication. Now used to the rough edges of the pill going down her dry throat she dared question, “Why is there no fresh water?” Why were her eyes still red and swollen from the memory of last night? Still she wondered,_ Why anything at all?_

There was a small wash basin in the opposite corner of the room, so very, very far away from where she was sitting. Must get up. “Going to be one of those days I guess. The last time I had one of those days I ended up on a deserted island. Friggin’ pirates.” The splash of cold salt water on her face felt good but she could also feel the salt sucking any elasticity from her skin. _I must look a mess. I smell a mess. Must wash clothes. Somehow_. She looked down at the bowl, pondering how she could wrap up her clothes in it._ Next time I take a bath I guess I have to put my clothes in it too._ Removing the ribbon from the bottom of her braided hair, (another small gift from Lesaro) she ran her fingers in her hair, attempting to calm the waves and frizz before starting a braid again. It was the only way to manage keeping it from flying about in the Atlantic’s harsh wind. She needed coffee but she was in no mood to face and ask a certain El Capitán. Not after his full dismissal last night. Thankfully the wind picked up and filled the room with fresh air. 

Lieutenant Lesaro gently knock on the door. If she was having the same morning Salazar was having, he knew noise would be her enemy.

“Enter.”

“You have slept past the bells.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No,” he gently said as he entered his quarters, now invaded nightly by this strange lady. 

“That’s surprising,” she huffed.

Lesaro watched as her body hunched over and she buried her head in her hands. “What is the matter señorita?”

“I need coffee,” she managed to whisper taking a deep breath, then facing him. “Never mind. You must be exhausted. I will move out of your way.” She spoke quietly, pulling away from the bed and forcing blood to rush to every part of her aching body.

“Padre Herrera is expecting you at Mass in an hour. Do not rush. You have time to rest.”

“Thank you Lesaro,” a pained smile was all she had to give.

***

“Good Morning Lieutenant.”

“Good Morning Santos!”

“Lesaro, we need to…”

“You take care of it Santos. Pardon.”

*** 

“Oh for the love. I thought Lesaro said I had another hour!” Teresa had to rise again, her random thoughts interrupted by another knock on the door. 

“Do unto others.”

There he stood, all of one eye smiling down at her, holding a small pewter tray with a mug of coffee and an orange no doubt purloined from the table of Capitán Salazar.

“Ho-ly…Lesaro you are - You are…a darling!” She instinctively reached her arms out to hug him and his eye grew wide while his body stiffened, and he curved his back away from her. He had to accept the hug though, she was not going to let go.

“You need to eat Señorita. Do you like (fish)?” desperate to be released from such an informal show of gratitude. 

Lesaro heard Salazar’s boots stride heavy in the corridor. When he entered, they brushed shoulders at the doorway. Lesaro briefly stopped, passed a look that Salazar understood to mean ‘be nice’. Salazar only lifted his head in response and took his place, standing across from where Teresa was sitting.

“Today you will begin to learn to speak proper Spanish with Padre Herrera. When we reach Espana you must be able to speak at Court and the English, we are not their allies.”

_The Court? Like with a King & Queen and people rushing around with their heads bowed down because they aren’t supposed to look anyone in the face type court? Or The Spanish Inquisition type court?_

_You will simply drop me off and then return to the sea_. Finally breaking her silent treatment, “Don’t I have any say in this?”

There was no other way and it pained him to think so. “My orders are from the King.” Salazar noticed the mug she was trying to slide behind her back.

His constant formal attention drew her within herself and her words became defensive. “And what exactly are those?”

“I am charged with upholding the Just rule of España. The law of Holy Mother Church. To see that…”

She interrupted him. “I remember” but really she struggled to remember even though the sound and the image had been so vivid just a moment ago, “the men on the other ship, they called you Matador.”

Salazar’s breath hitched as he agitatedly waited to hear her next words. What had they told her?

“Matador something or other,” sarcastically followed by, “Well Olé then, Cap-i-tan,” swinging an arm in the air.

Relief flushed through his core. They had told her nothing.

“Exactly what do these pirates do that irritate you so much? I mean, from all I have seen they do nothing but drink a lot, make an already miserable life just a little more miserable, have you discovered plumbing yet? But aren’t they seeking freedom? The chance to govern themselves? To not be subject to a King who is only there because of blood.” _Careful Teresa, your American is showing_.

“Freedom? Freedom to commit sin is no freedom. You would enslave your soul. The King is anointed by God, he is not placed on a throne to rule without the proper Virtues. He must rule Justly, defend his Empire. When a King does not, he risks losing the crown. I defend that crown, those in The Imperial House.”

There was her uneasy silence settling thick between them again. Teresa looked down at her feet, struggling to keep the warm mug hidden behind her back on the bed.

“I will tell you about pirates Señorita,” leaning down in front of her almost on his knees. “Their vices are greed, murder. Treachery. The King,” nodding his head in that marked proud manner while also wondering about the crack in the window, “the King, he discovers their greed. He does not take bribes from corrupt men.”

“No? He must simply take bribes from everyone else. Sometimes those closest to you are the ones who betray you, eh Brute?” she was challenging him with her smugness. 

Those words made him rise to his feet. “What do you know of betrayal? You cannot comprehend what that is! Go. Go! Speak to Herrera. I have my orders.”

He followed her out the corridor, looming behind her until they reached deck. She turned around only when she could no longer feel his body pressed into her back and his ominous presence dissipated into the sea air. She retreated to hear Padre Herrera say Mass, and then promised herself to come up with a plan to avoid these “lessons”.

***

Activities on The Mary were not strange, no, they were positively inconsistent from any former life her newest passenger witnessed. No fluctuation in color except the sky, no vibrant and flamboyant people - unless you want to count the time she found Officer Moss standing at the rail singing. He had been pulling up a net from the side of the ship. What intrigued her was the way he did it, almost like a dance moving rhythmically and twisting his hands in a graceful manner she only expected from a man playing a modern Flamenco tune. Shyly moving closer to inspect his movements she heard a guttural melody fill the air around him. To the rest of the crew this was his normal activity because they continued their work without disruption. The men above her continued releasing of the sails, taking directions from Officer Santos. Moss suddenly turned red when he realized she was watching. She looked away quickly so not to embarrass him further, turned and walked back to the quarterdeck. Maybe humanity through the ages was not so different after all.

Ah Bracero. Still missing. He was volatile. Salazar could easily send him out on one of those little boats, unleash his own tornado of hell and they would be clear of the pirates in days. Officer Santos could use some watching, well at least his backside could. Confident and sweet. _Bet he’d look good in hockey shorts_. Lieutenant Lesaro a darling but clearly bound by some unknown force to Salazar.

_Speaking of El __Capitán_ _himself_, she raised one eyebrow in his direction. Gorgeous, but obsessed. At this safe distance she could really look at him. But what was there other than his black and white uniform? His medals sparkling, his figure broad, tall, proud. Pride. A dark fire behind his eyes that when ignited she had a critical urge to play with. And he had let her last night. He allowed her in, just a little, and now she wanted to reach her hand into the open flame to see if it would burn. Charming. Dangerous. Cheche would not approve. Addison would have, and insisted on extensive notes. It was disorienting and maddening. She had never felt so in control, and then so willing to relinquish that control if he had spoken just the right words. Now she had ignited that fire again while setting off her own. _Should I have stayed a moment longer last night? What harm in a small kiss? A thank you for twice saving my life? You’re losing your mind girl. Stop thinking with your hormones. _

***

The prospect of spending hours studying Spanish linguistics from a frail priest who could dance multiple languages around her faster than a Ferrari at Sonoma Speedway, was terrifying. Teresa needed to find a way to get out this newest prison. “Bet he doesn’t know the air speed velocity of a swallow,” she said, smiling and thinking of the rest of the Monty Python skit_._ She had made decent enough grades in college to graduate without having to try hard thanks to her grandparents constantly speaking Spanish at home. Maybe she could try that here? If she could prove to Salazar that her Spanish was at least conversational, maybe he wouldn’t punish her in this way with lessons. _Because yeah, lessons, school again, absolutely a punishment_. _Would now be a good time to start talking about the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch?_

There was the deck open before her. Again. How many times had she walked around up here? Too many to remember. _It’s like the living room. Everyone gathers to watch TV and hang out. The __Capitán’s quarters?_ She turned her head over her shoulder to look up at it. Prohibido, like Abuelo’s garage. You were only invited if he wanted to show something off or to punish you with chores_. Yes, start thinking in Spanish and it will all come back_. Teresa still had not ventured to find the kitchen and now she did not know when she would have time. “Can’t live off coffee, an orange, _Broth de Maria”_ as she had christened it, “and whatever random fish the sailors are pulling up from the ocean.” _Mmmm sake sashimi… Are salmon in this part of the Atlantic? Probably not a clean enough kitchen for sushi._ _Oh please don’t make me eat anchovies or, oh no - dolphin! Please don’t let me see a dolphin in their nets!_

The Atlantic’s air had more electricity in it than the Pacific. She stood on the quarterdeck hiding behind the shrouds and let the briny air invade her personal space. This breeze didn’t come directly at her, rather it liked to twist and slink up from her feet, catching the hem of her dress, winding upwards like a python to reach her face and set the hair on the back of her neck on end. Teresa pulled her sweatshirt closer around her and allowed her mind to wander and voice to hum:

And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind

Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves

The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves

Let me forget about today until tomorrow…

Hey Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to…

“Alright, I can’t keep hanging out here listening in on their conversation like a ‘creeper on a covert operation’,” _which actually I kinda am_? _Time_ _to go introduce myself. Let’s see_…she held her hand up to block the sun and scanned the deck. Lesaro. I’ll start there. (Good Afternoon Lesaro.) Surprised that she was speaking Spanish, he responded (Good Afternoon senorita Teresa.) _Hmmm_, (Thank you, again. For the coffee.) Lesaro stopped and his eye closed “shhh”! (Oh, sorry! I have a question?) Okay this is not going how I thought. (How much, no um how are you?) _Ugh that sounds stupid. You know much more than this! Come on Teresa, pull it together. _(Good. Excuse me.) She stood there listening to Lesaro rapidly fire off instructions, how to place his hands on the rope and use his fingers to…

“Dedos!” she yelled.

They stopped.

(It is my favorite word in Spanish!) He looked at her. She brought her hand up and wiggled her fingers.

“Dedos?” Lesaro threw his head back in laughter.

“Don’t ask me to explain it.” Seeing how this made her laugh he kept repeating, “dedos, dedos!” until he was called to the helm. 

“Hola Santos!” greeting him with a cheerful smile and short wave of her hand.

(Good Afternoon Señorita Romero.) Awkward silence. (Do you need something senorita?)

(Um, this is called) she picked up the nearest thing to her, (a bucket). _You’re a child Teresa, this is ridiculous. _

(Yes, you are correct.) entirely formal and steady. _Might be cute, but not great with conversations. Wonder what he’s like after a few margaritas?_

Another figure appeared and spoke. (And do you know what this is senorita?)

She turned to see Officer Moss standing beside her, holding something behind his back. (Your name is Antonio? What do you want to show me?) As Moss began to bring forward what was in his hand, his eye caught Salazar observing him and he rushed away. _Okay, weird. Maybe he wanted to sing at me?_ These interactions were encouraging her confidence. 

Lesaro, still chuckling from the sound of Teresa’s voice repeating the word for fingers, walked up to stand at the wheel next to Salazar.

Salazar was sulking, his head ached, and the only soothing he could find was to command The Mary. (Why is she defiant to this gracious offer? Does she not realize Herrera is bound by his prayers and this will take time out of his day?) 

(I think she understands more than she tells you Capitán. What she is doing now, she is trying to prove to you she does not need help.) His voice slipped into the tone of counselor.

Salazar gripped The Silent Mary’s wheel tighter and his eyes stared at the one place they were always automatically drawn to.

(Ah, I see.) The bold Lieutenant leaned his head toward Salazar to make sure it was the same thing they were looking at.

(What do you see?)

(Capitán), turning to face him, (I know you. You are, all of us, very.)

Salazar interrupted him. (Lesaro carefully choose your words), his eyes never leaving the horizon. 

(Captivated. Even Bracero in his own way. She is, when I think of all virtues – challenging. We both know you could never back down from this challenge.)

The men stood in silence while waves crashed against the ship’s figurehead. Salazar guided The Mary gently starboard.

Lesaro again sighed and looked to the blue ocean before them. (When do you want to release Bracero from the brig?)

(I will give her a chance to prove it. Dinner, tonight with the Officers. Release Bracero after.)

(Very good Capitán.) smiling, the Lieutenant nodded his head in approval. 

Salazar spent the rest of morning guiding The Mary and letting himself imagine Teresa singing again. 

On the forecastle, Officer Santos waited to speak with Magda. When the other men had cleared, Santos stood along side. (Do you think she knows that his enemies call him El Matador del Mar? They call him a Butcher?)

Miguel Magda took a deep breath, tested the atmosphere and rocked back on his heels. (No. I do not think so.)

(No. Maybe one of us should tell her, yes?)

(What has gotten into your head? Leave it, Santos. Better for her that she not know. We will be in Cadiz in eleven days.)

Teresa walked toward them, only able to translate part of their conversation. Magda gave her a brief smile and she continued past to reach her meeting with Herrera. 

(Capitán Salazar will drop her off, we spend a month with our families, and when The Mary is ready, return to sea. Let the King deal with her then.)

***

Padre Herrera was standing at the far corner of the room under the painting of The Assumption, pleading with The Madonna and asking her what he had ever done to be required to teach this woman how to read and write in formal Spanish, especially when he would have preferred her to learn Latin. She had proven before she could read, and astonishingly write. Now he must test her. He had no vocation for teaching, rather his charism was in council and penance. His student tried to enter the room covertly, when she tripped on the corner of a chest of drawers near the door and brought him out of meditation. He turned around to face her.

(Good. Let us begin. Please sit, write down your name and where you are from and one question you have for me.)

_Oh, it’s going to be that sort of class: Immersion_.

With difficulty she pulled a hulking carved wood chair back and took a seat at the table, only to roll her eyes with what she encountered before her. No pencil of course, only ink and pen. _I suspect he wants this in cursive too. Fan-tab-u-lous. _

After five minutes she was able to scribble out, along with many blots of ink:

‘Teresa Josephina Philomena Romero. Monterey, California’

She hesitated at adding the title “Duchess of Sarcasm”, a name which Addison had bestowed on her under the influence of multiple sleepless days, term paper deadlines, and an ill-timed trip to Lake Tahoe. _Nothing cures stress like running away to a resort_.

The good Padre did not bother looking at her paper. (Now, write one question.)

(where is the bathroom)

He was not impressed, gave her a frown and threw the paper to the side. (What else do you know?)

The writing made her hand hurt and covered the side of her arm in ink. “Oh, a few words here and there, I picked up some phrases from the men, and some words are similar in English.” _Better not tell him I know how to swear better than any of these men on aboard or do they just speak this way because they respect Herrera?_

(Continue to write what you remember and I will judge what you need to learn).

Teresa rested her head in her left hand while she played and made messy swirls with the ink. “I think I need to learn how to use this first, Padre.” This unquestionably would be the longest part of the trip, and she banged her head on the desk. Only slightly looking up and stretching out her arm along the top, she reached for the mosaic crest in the center and ran her fingers over the design. “I need some music to help me concentrate,” pulling out her device and setting it in front of her. _Hello sunshine and battery life!_ Scrolling through the playlist Teresa did not recognize the last song, its title in Spanish. There was a note attached at the bottom:

_‘Mija, listen to this when you get to the Resort.’ _

_Cheche must have added it at the dinner_. “Padre, could you help me translate this song?”

(Child, no – I do not.) Shaking his hands in front of his face, his poorly shod feet shuffled along the floor.

(Do not worry Padre,) I’m sure it’s a very gentle song,” her voice trying to sound soothing. (Please?)

He agreed and began writing, though he needed to hear parts repeated, writing the Spanish hastily first, the scratching of the quill over paper, and then transcribing the English. Teresa was correct. It was a gentle song, a poem. She was only interested in the Spanish and wrote it over and over to try and memorize it. 

The priest jumped up when Salazar entered the room, and Herrera was eager to give his report. (It is going well. She is a very adept student.)

_Ha. If only he knew… _

Capitán Salazar smiled. Really, truly smiled. (Then I think she deserves a reward, yes?) “You may again retrieve an item from your ‘carry-on’.”

“Seriously!?” He loved how her eyes glowed, and that it was his command which made them do so.

“Yes. But I expect more of your words to me be in Spanish from now on.”

“Deal! Er, Verdad! I mean, acuerdo!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: Verse 4, Mr. Tambourine Man – Bob Dylan. Confined to the ship, the style of writing reflects that, versus when the story was in Florida and more colorful and free-flowing. When they reach Spain (and *most* of them will reach Spain dun dun duuunnn), the writing will return to something similar to the first chapters – faster, more colorful, less focused on the individual. Python reference is a dedication to a friend. Teresa’s first middle name: St. Josephine Bakhita who is among other things, patroness of human traffic survivors. Her second is her confirmation name and patroness: St. Philomena, who literally when thru hell and high water before her martyrdom. Someone please give Officer Santos an adult beverage.


	11. Under the Milky Way Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner. Well, what is supposed to be dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, my apologies that this was a later than usual update and a heartfelt thank you to all who have read this story. I hope to post Friday or Saturdays now that schedules have changed. Second: I have a most humble request. Please enjoy the karaoke by singing along with Teresa. She only has herself and could use the company. Again, I own none of the music. Last part of the chapter, they are speaking in Spanish but I didn’t want to use ().  
**And to the wonderful Senneres, who has been a benevolent help since the beginning: I especially thank you**

_How much can I shove down my shirt and not actually look like I’m hiding something?_ El Capitán had left her alone, again, and expected her to obey his order of only taking one thing. _He’s beginning to trust you, don’t take too much._

“Chapstick!” kissing the little yellow tube that would bring soothing beeswax to her lips. _Now, don’t walk funny. Head up, smile, nothing to see here. _

A half bald head peaked around the door trying to shield his eyes said, “Have you found what you need, daughter?”

(Definitely. Thank you.) as she slammed the lid right onto her pinkie finger. Again.

“Padre Herrera will escort you below where you will wait.”

“Capitán, about that”, pausing before making an inopportune request. “Is there any chance you would change Lieutenant Lesaro’s, um, arrangement?”

Salazar had already heard this conversation. The entire crew heard the argument. Perhaps Lesaro was trying use his influence on Teresa to sway his Capitán. True, Lesaro was not keen on having his private space invaded, his things being moved around and touched by a stranger, neither was Salazar. He could not leave her in the brig, not after what happened to her on the pirate ship. His usually equanimous Lieutenant had been short tempered lately and while a highly trained soldier, he had not adjusted well and tried to hide it. Salazar was acutely aware of the change.

“Why?”

“For one, I feel awful for taking his quarters and second, he has to be up all night, sleep all day - that has to mess with you after a while.” _Or this is what Mythbusters said. How can I remember that but not…?_ She shook her head and steadied herself with her hand on the table. “There must be someplace he can sleep so he may see daylight again?”

“I will consider it.”

She smiled gleefully and walked with Herrera, who was beginning to turn all shades of red.

Lesaro appeared out of the shadows and Teresa reached out to tug on the Lieutenant’s cuff, leaving the presence of her chaperone. “I have a request. I need a – small very sharp – very sharp, knife.”

“Why. I cannot give you something like that.”

“Please? With powdered sugar on top? I’ll make you a tarta de Santiago when we get to Cadiz,” not thinking about how she would get the ingredients, instead cozying up making him uncomfortable and also unable to think straight. _Probably not okay to tempt the man_, and she stepped away slightly.

“Think of it as a trade. You let me borrow the knife, I promise to give it back before dinner. And I make you a tarta.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Oh, and a hairbrush?”

“Si Señorita.”

Feeling very smug at having influenced both men to get them to do what she wanted, Teresa returned to the room to lay out her treasures and take a mental inventory. The prized Dolce & Gabbana dress she had so neatly tucked in before they left Miami, pajamas, glasses, and a few toiletries, it was starting to look like she was moving in and she was thankful no one noticed how much she really had been carrying out this afternoon. Next to these she lay the knife and hairbrush Lesaro left at the door. Deciding to grab her grandmother’s small art deco emerald and diamond drop earrings was partly a tactical move, hoping she would not have to use them to bargain with like she did with her last earrings. _What did that boy say? An accord?_

A sudden urge in her soul arose as her eye caught site of her most prized possession laying on the bed. Magda’s words echoed:

_Eleven more days to Cadiz._

There before her, in the little white bottle she had so desperately risked her life to keep, the bottle she had saved from being lost to the ocean, lay her fate. She was partly in control of her destiny. She could count them and know, baring the miraculous, what day her body would start to shut down, or she could ignore it and live in blissful ignorance. She had to know the truth. The evening sun broke through the circular window above her and shown down on the wooden table next to the bed. Delicately each blue pill fell in her hand as she shook the bottle. Teresa began lining them up in groups of ten. She would have had several more had a few not slipped down thru the floor planks that night confusion. 

Her fate lay in those number of pills. Her heart raced and mouth became dry and one hand began to shake uncontrollably.

_Thirty-seven. _

Thirty-seven days until her body would slip, before it would suffer major heart failure. She would have only twenty-six days after they landed until the end.

_Must stay strong. Can’t think about that now. I can’t be the only person in history to suffer from such an ailment. Life is too short Teresa. You must keep going. You must trust your instincts. _But there was another question troubling her. How fast was The Silent Mary? Her head began to throb and spin until she dismissed trying to recall any memories of the weeks before her arrival. How could Magda be so sure it was eleven days, other than his unusual gift to speak with the weather?

_Thirty-seven. That can’t be right. I had almost a full bottle for three months when we left Miami. Why can’t I remember? _

Falling to her knees in front of the wood and silver crucifix above Lesaro’s bed, she simply, humbly, like the servant to a King, she begged for her life. “God, I don’t know what I’m doing here, but you are the one who sent me. You know I cannot live without this. I need a miracle. A legit miracle.” Breath returned to calm peace and she put the bottle on table, slowly rising from her knees and backing away, laying all her hope before an inanimate representation of her Faith.

_Faith as small as a mustard seed_, she could hear Abuela reminding her.

Lazily deciding if she could actually do something with the frizzed mess that was her hair, she picked up the new hairbrush. One day walking along the beach with the salt air could do wonders for volume. Daily impact from the spray? Awful. She played with the loose curls until the sunlight hit the back of the ivory and silver brush with a flash and she couldn’t resist what came next. Donning her headphones (wouldn’t want the crew to hear this one!), standing in the middle of the room, the sunlight as her spotlight, she put the brush in front of her and -

At first I was afraid

I was petrified

Kept thinkin' I could never live without you by my side

But then I spent so many nights

Thinkin' how you did me wrong

And I grew strong, and I learned how to get along… 

I'm not that chained up little person still in love with you

And so you feel like droppin' in

And just expect me to be free

Now I'm savin' all my lovin' for someone who's lovin' me..

(a knock on the door which she did not hear)

Teresa kept singing. Confidently. Then, _Loudly. _

“Go on now, go walk out the door”

“Señorita?” “Just turn around now 'Cause you're not welcome anymore”

“Señorita?!?”

The second knock was aggressive. Frantically pulling off her headphones and scrambling to turn off the device, she tripped on her way to the door. “A minute!” _Oh shit! Did he hear me?_

Clearing her throat, brush still in hand, she opened the door to reveal her new attire while still humming to herself, realizing like so many songs that speak across generations and to the soul, she was done thinking about the man in the elevator. Even now she laughed at how ridiculous it had all been, how she let herself be influenced by Adie and too many romance novels.

“Ready! Well, what do you think?”

Shock, nay, disbelief, rushed on his face. “Señorita Romero! You cannot! You cannot walk across the ship this way! (The dinner. The Officers. You, cannot. No, no, no. Not permitted. I will not permit it!), indistinguishable Spanish flying from his mouth unable to think in any coherent sentences.

“Why not?”

“Señorita. You. And.” and his eye looked down on her again. Bows rested gently on each shoulder, the white fabric of the rest of her dress covered in delicate designs of blue and yellow stylized leaves curving with splashes of orange petals of flowers. The dress left her arms bare and her legs below the knee exposed. He realized he was staring and turned his eye up to the ceiling, standing at attention as if for inspection. “If you were my sister I would not allow. No.”

“I am not your sister, and I am going to wear this dress. Or shall I wrap myself up in a carpet and be presented to El Capitán like Cleopatra to Julius Caesar?” she turned her head to try and get him to look down.

Lesaro was mortified.

Immediately all expression dropped from her face and a heavy tone took her voice. “I’m joking Lieutenant.”

“Yes. Ha. You will wear something else.”

Sternly again she warned him, “No. I _intended_ on wearing this dress to dinner with my friends at the Resort, and while this is no resort_, I am_ wearing this dress to dinner. Tonight.”

Perceiving he was not going to change her mind, and a little frightened by the look of determination on her face, Lesaro was always ready with a plan. “I will get you a cloak.”

“A cloak. You are serious. Am I supposed to wear it during dinner too?”

“Capitán Salazar to decide Señorita Romero.” He was complete formality when he was flustered.

Moments later he returned. “Here. You will wear this.”

Teresa took the black wool cloak from his hands and threw it over her shoulders, attempting to figure out how to secure the silver scrollwork clasp. “It weighs a ton! Look – it is also way too long,” she protested and as she began to walk out Lesaro picked her up, making sure her legs were covered and started carrying her down the corridor. 

“Ack! Lieutenant! What on this green earth do you think you are doing? Put me down!”

“No.”

(Yes! Put me down!)

“No,” her attempt at formal Spanish made him almost fall and he stumbled but continued resolutely towards Salazar’s quarters.

Officer Santos met them at Salazar’s door. (Lesaro, why are you carrying the señorita?)

(She) his eyes in desperation locked with hers trying to find an answer.

(My foot. I insulted my foot.) pointing to her shoes and then rolling her eyes at the trembling Lieutenant who then refused to look at her directly.

Santos covered his mouth to hide a smile.

“Back to your post Officer Santos.”

Lesaro finally put Teresa down. “Don’t you ever try to do that again,” she threatened.

A rush of wind brushed against her cheeks as Lesaro opened the door and every sense became inundated with elements of revelation. For the first time she could take in the full view of Capitán Salazar’s quarters. Five large windows along the back allowed for an expansive view of the sea, the tangerine sun now setting into the undulated glass, the light tangling with the black damask silk curtains draped and valanced along the top and down each window, a tight silver cord holding the fabric in place against the wall. Centered directly in front of the window sat his chair, magnificent and intricate, worthy of the man who sat at the gold and black Baroque desk and commanded The Silent Mary. Whether or not he ever invited anyone to sit in one of the two chairs opposite this grand desk, she could not tell. The black leather cushions appeared new. His crest hung prominently above the window. She could not tell if it was gold leaf or solid but given Salazar’s flare for the dramatic it most likely was pure gold and she assumed so of all the rest of the gilding surrounding her. To the left, she remembered being placed on the dark blue velvet settee and her eyes wandered further this time to discover a niche in the wall with a small keyhole. A large oil painting hung behind the settee. She recognized the young man in the center as Bacchus and he was surrounded by several other men in various states of drunkenness.

To the right of his desk he kept an unusually extensive collection of books, gold tooled leather, red, white and blue double handsewn endbands placed uniformly on 3 shelves. She would have to explore the titles much later. _Would these books have that “old book” vanilla smell?_ This wall also had a door, trying to appear hidden yet the entrance had carved leaves and grape vines painted in garish red and yellow autumn as if walking through the door would bid you enter a Spanish harvest of the finest vines. This keyhole was more formidable like a great medieval gated door rather than the more delicate lines of the rest masterpiece of a room. Below her feet an incredible red, black, white and blue wool rug with Moroccan influenced patterns expanded to cover most of the floor.

The walls surrounding her were of the finest dark stained wood paneling, these panels inlaid with gold and ivory leaves. Above her, framing the room was the recessed rectangular ceiling intricate designs of shells, gold leaf, it was a study in pure baroque art, copious swirls like waves cresting the shore in every corner the artist could reach. A Venetian glass candelabra, beaded in dark blue and red glass bulbs and fine hand blown red old world roses hung from the very center of all this.

The true masterpiece, a magnificent retablo, imposed its presence to the right of her. It had been carved in Cadiz, by Salazar’s own orders and placed in his quarters for a show of power just as much as a show of piety and devotion. The resplendent centerpiece of the Altar, placed in a slightly recessed niche lined in gold and shell shaped, stood a wood carved Mater Dolorosa, The Sorrowful Virgin, crowned with silver and rubies like the rays of the sun from her head. Her heart, being held in her delicately lifelike painted hand had seven gold swords piercing and radiating outward and she was holding it out away from her body, as if presenting it to the devotee. Her face, pure anguish, eyes dripped glass tears, and imported pure white lace between her real hair and black velvet veil framed her beautiful face of agony. She appeared to be kneeling, the black draped fabric sewn with silver threads and designs of grapes, arrows, and flames covering any shape that would have been her human form. Her face was impeccably kept, and Teresa wondered if Padre Herrera in addition to his overwhelmingly busy days also had the duty of dusting this statue. At the Madonna’s feet, set deep into a carved fire were five figures, three men and two women, keeping their purgatory in silence, their boney hands clasped in desperate pleas for relief. A modest statue of St. Francis with his stigmata wounds on his hands, feet and side, was placed to the left and on the right, St. James, wearing peasant clothing, carrying a shell and pilgrim staff looked down over the observer. Above this impressive scene, a life-sized crimson Sacred Heart circled in green marble carved thorns, with rubies for blood that dripped from each thorn prick. Still above that, but slightly smaller than the Virgin, Christ on the Cross, with silver rays behind his head, blood from his five wounds trickling down his skeletal body. Teresa thought it may come to life as she tried to look at his face, glass eyes half closed but seemed to follow each movement of anyone nearby.

Capitán Salazar escorted Teresa to the dining table that had been placed for the occasion in the middle of the room. She took her seat, thanking him, fiddling with the cloak and waiting nervously for the other men to sit around her.

Padre Herrera shuffled in, mumbling humble excuses about his tardiness. He quickly said Grace, dipping several reeds of twigs into a gold bucket he was carrying and with an aggressive spray of Holy Water, some of which hit Teresa in the face making her flinch, blessed the meal. He left in the exact manner he arrived dragging his habit along the ground, his walk making the wooden beads at his side rattle as if he were possessed by an internal earthquake.

_Abuela said if you are at a table and do not know what to do, wait and watch the other person first. _Such a wise woman, and clearly these men had not heard the phrase ladies first.

The table was just large enough for the four of them and a variety of real food. Teresa was thankful the cook had not presented broth. No, he gave her something much better - garlic! Pickled garlic and garlic in the grain like dish that reminded her of couscous and slivers of garlic on bread. Olives, some other sort of pickled – _something _– , fish caught earlier today and _those are some large tentacles octopus, okay no turtle shells or anchovies._ _Someone want to tell me how he is keeping oranges fresh around here? They don’t know about penicillin yet do they?_ A white porcelain dish directly in front of her had an interesting array of dried fruits. Teresa reached for those first but was having a difficult time because the cloak was heavy and she could not reach her arm out very far without it getting in the way.

Salazar looked up from his plate to see her struggling. (Señorita Romero, remove your cloak.)

Lesaro stopped mid-bite. (Capitán, perhaps the señorita is cold?)

Teresa’s eyes darted between the men.

(Then I will have the cook bring her something warm to drink. Señorita, the cloak.)

Lesaro would not look up. Teresa slowly rose from her chair and closed her eyes, preparing herself to hear El Capitán give her the same words the Lieutenant did earlier. Part of her did not care if he yelled, she was determined to wear the dress and pretend if only for a while that this was some dream, and she had every right to be comfortable and not conform to every rule Salazar tried to tie her to. _It’s not like these guys haven’t seen a woman’s arms before right? Right?!_

Armando Salazar had never watched a woman’s hands so diligently. She cupped her fingers across the filigree of the clasp, sliding them along the edge as she turned the hook outward. It was undone. She hesitated. The soft fabric glided down her shoulders and fell completely to the floor, taking his eyes with it.

Still she held her eyes tightly shut but could feel his gaze. “Open them”, he whispered to himself.

And she did.

There were his luxurious eyes to greet her, to comfort her, an ocean of approval in his smile and she sat down at her place next to him.

Magda looked up and raised an eyebrow, but also tried to keep hidden that he enjoyed what he saw.

Salazar’s conversation began by tallying the number of pirate ships they had destroyed before their current return to Spain. He and Lesaro went back and forth about the strategy used and Magda, sitting directly across from her, spoke little, enjoying the meal before them and eating in such a delicate manner she thought she might be dining with the King himself. Lesaro was almost as fastidious. Yet the Capitán, once he pushed to the heart of the conversation hardly ate anything, leaning on his elbows and hovering his body over his plate. He was too busy analyzing his own strategy, complimenting the honor of his crew, and praising the Silent Mary’s grand cannons to notice her look of perplexion. His face, she noticed, was so full of passion, she could not help but stare at every curve, line, and spark from his eyes. Yet…

_Always with the pirates! Is it proper to face palm at dinner? _

(And you, Señorita Teresa, do you follow why it was important for The Mary to have maneuvered in this way?)

She stopped, and truthfully had only been half paying attention to his words. She brought the cloth napkin up to her face so the couscous-like food would not go flying out of her mouth and swallowed hard before speaking. (I understand a small amount. I think if the winds had been from the East, you said, I try to go around for surprise, not direct.)

Salazar sat back to analyze her words.

Magda was the first to respond. (Then you do not understand the warfare. You cannot direct the winds, you cannot steer the Armada ship in this way. Your answer would have meant the sinking of The Ascensión and put the fleet at risk. It is a foolish decision.)

Teresa lowered her eyes and stopped herself from making a remark about the Armada’s defeat in the English Channel until - she felt his hand in hers under the table, rubbing his thumb along the top of her fingers, and she, trembling from his touch, caught her breath.

(Excuse me, Senor Magda, I do not understand why attack is good when you can) “um, are outflanked and there is a better chance for survival if you can push the enemy to the shallow water.”

(You see Magda, she does understand.) Salazar defended her and the room became quiet. Lesaro cleared his throat and reached for a dried apricot.

The Capitán of The Silent Mary always came prepared to anything he attended. This dinner he came prepared to ask her a litany of questions but Magda was proving a hinderance with his own application of interrogation. The questions were not enough to tell him where she acquired the gold crucifix on her neck, and the new addition of the diamond and emerald earrings she wore tonight. Salazar stood up and walked to his desk bringing back a large map and grandly sweeping away the plate and utensils before settling it before Teresa.

(Show me where you come from.)

She stared at the cartography, full of swirling dolphins and abstract mythical sea creatures. She had never seen a map like this in person and hardly recognized the names and coastlines. The map was so very incomplete, like something that had been drawn from a child’s memory rather than an expert explorer. Baja California, labeled as “Californie Isle” and drawn surrounded by the Pacific Ocean gave her a reference point. 

(Monterey is north of here, Capitán), pointing to an almost empty portion of the map. He began to ask her about Monterey, since as far as he knew, the Bay had only been named by the Spanish explorer Vizcaino but not extensively and there had been no settlement beyond trading.

(Romero. Do you know Bartolome Romero, former Alcalde of Santa Fe? Are you…) Magda again interupting was trying to intimidate her, unwilling still to accept her story. He lived partly by instinct, and his instinct told him not to trust her.

(Unquestionably she is.) Salazar again coming to her aid. Magda however, was not impressed by the information and commenced his questioning about exact locations, agriculture, and of course, the weather.

Teresa was nervous about his questions. How many times had fiction cautioned about revealing the future? (It’s beautiful yes. No rain and some of the Bay difficult to get through. The fog stays at the coast for weeks and, yes I said very little rain.) 

The rest of the meal passed with idle conversation between the Officers while Teresa tried to take mental notes of all she heard, thinking Salazar might be the kind of person to quiz her in the morning.

Dinner having officially ended, Salazar rose and walked to Teresa to help her with the cloak. He wanted to take her outside under the stars to see if being so far away from home she could identify the same ones he spent a lifetime navigating by.

“Do they always do that!?” she exclaimed as the clear night sky opened above Teresa and her Capitan. 

(You must continue speaking in Spanish if you wish to converse with me tonight.)

His words made her blush. (The sky. The diamonds in the sky? They are always large?) 

(Of course) he smiled.

(Stop. Please, we stay out here for a few minutes?) Looking skyward wandering up the stairs until they reached the stern. (I am higher?)

(Not without climbing and I will not allow that. You may use this,) The wind caught up in the cloak and billowed between them. He stood steady behind her, holding the scope to her eye and pointing out constellations.

(This one, it is unique. The most brilliant star.)

(Sirius! That is Sirius!) 

(Yes. Very good.)

(Capitan, I know my stars.)

She drifted quietly into humming a song, the only song that ever came to her heart when the Milky Way breached the darkness, pierced by the finest and sharpest points of pure white light. Even as a young girl Teresa would wander the beaches in Monterey, making note of the phases of the moon and trying to count the waves to determine the tide, pondering the words so gently spoken in the music.

Starry starry night

Paint your palette blue and gray

Look out on a summer's day

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills

Sketch the trees and the daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills

In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

How you suffered for your sanity

How you tried to set them free

They would not listen they did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now

Shocked out of her memory by the cold wind as it hit and twisted the canvas above them, she realized his shielding body had left her side. He was now half-way to The Mary’s helm. A rush came over her as she realized she was standing alone and that he had not said anything before leaving her side, her body pining for his presence. She rushed down through the cool night air to meet him.

(Good Night Capitán. Would you, um, would you?) but she could not bring herself to ask him.

(Ah Lieutenant, please escort Señorita Romero to her cabin.)

(Yes Capitán.)

“Lesaro, don’t…”

“Do not worry Señorita, I will not.”

He bid her good night at the door.

“Good Night Lesaro. Wait. What is your first name?”

“Guillermo. Do not let the sailors hear you call me that, yes?”

She hung her head. “Yes Lieutenant. Oh, here’s your cloak,” as she slipped it off and laid it in his arms.

The candlelight in the cabin began fading in the watery grave of her eyes.

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside

On that starry starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

Removing her dress and changing into the pajamas she procured, Teresa noticed one of the bottles on the table was not where she left it. _Must have been Lesaro looking for something_.

For all that preparation, all the confidence she possessed in the afternoon had faded immediately when faced with his eyes. Those dark eyes blasting her soul with fire. Tonight, she couldn’t reach it. But she tried. Oh she tried. Up there under the stars, the ocean gusts playing between them, pulling them closer. It was the show of kindness, warmth, something he would not share with her unless under the cover of darkness that made her think he indeed cared for her. Had she misjudged again? The actions between them, his reaching for her hand at dinner, even if it was out of sight of the others, the reassuring tone and defense of her answer, had she wanted to see something that wasn’t there because her own heart was changing? Then suddenly he had left her alone. Another long night aboard this grand ship, very alone, seemed all she had. That and knowing tomorrow she would only have thirty-six days left, a secret she would have to keep from all aboard The Silent Mary.

Especially her Capitán.

***

Lesaro returned to Salazar’s quarters, having been already cleaned up and all memory of a dinner even taken place gone, table and chairs and plates returned to their place in the galley. 

“Enter.”

“I warned you about the dress. Entirely inappropriate.”

“For her, in her time, she thinks not.”

“True. We are dealing with now. We are talking about you presenting her as your,”

Salazar cut him off. “When we reach Cadiz I will have Magda go and acquire all that is needed. She will leave this ship as nothing less than what she is.”

“Ah, did she pass your test? Does she need to continue these ‘lessons’?” Lesaro knocked on the niche holding the bottles of wine. Salazar threw him the key.

“Absolutely. Did you hear her accent? She will never be accepted at court in this way.”

“I wonder do you accept her this way?”

“What do you think God’s Will is?” slumping down on the settee.

“Armando, please,” pouring two glasses of wine. “It is too late in the evening, even for you, to delve into a theological debate.”

“Tell me. Are we doing God’s Will? These pirates.”

“Pirates? I thought we were discussing the Señorita,” he handed Salazar a full glass of the deepest red wine. “Yes, Capitán. We are doing God’s Will just as we were ordered, as we swore to do all those years ago.”

He nods. “Padre Herrera agrees.”

“Then why ask me?”

“I wanted to ensure you are still confident in your decision. I would never allow you to -” Salazar’s voice faded.

“You know my reasons, why I agreed to sail on The Silent Mary.” Lesaro finished his wine and put the glass down hard on the table. “Reason enough to have my loyalty, Capitán.”

“Yes. Good. I have decided you will again return to your previous duties. Tomorrow I will move Senorita Romero to the smaller room here. Tell Moss to have the crates moved and locked in the brig. But leave the books.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do not think Padre will be happy about this new arrangement.” Pouring a second glass.

“Why should he protest? It is one of the only places on The Mary that has a lock on the entrance.”

“Yes, and you have the only key.”

“Guillermo Lesaro, you step too far. Or do you think your Capitán is not an honorable man?”

“Pardon. Sorry Capitán.”

They allowed a mutual tranquility to descend between them as the waves crashed against The Mary, bringing them every moment closer to Spain.

Dropping formality, as he always seemed to do when imbibing, “One more question Gui. What did Teresa give you before dinner, eh?”

“A knife.”

“A knife?”

“Yes. Good Night Capitán,” Lesaro left his friend to ponder the deeper meaning of life in brooding silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: I Will Survive – Gloria Gaynor (you know it- own it!) Vincent – Don McLean (This song makes me cry every.single.time. Admit it, you knew it would be here somewhere) Artwork: The Triumph of Bacchus – Velázquez.  
Let me know in the comments what you think so far and what you are looking forward to, or if you have ANY questions about the story or characters!


	12. Nemo repente fit pessimus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar calls a theological retreat with Padre Herrera. Herrera’s involvement on The Silent Mary is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Heavy on the Catholic theology* If that’s not your thing skip to the next chapter, (which I hope to post by tomorrow) no worries. I include it because I feel it is part of Salazar’s struggle and humanity. *Minor character death*

It was going to be a long night for Capitán Armando Salazar. There were too many thoughts, too many emotions filling his mind and sleep, well, sleep would no doubt elude him. There was no question as to why. He tried to convince himself that having her close by would be to only to guard her. Yes, nothing more than that. He would not think about her dress or that she was kind and quick-witted, and strong. The strength that made her speak the way she did, the way she was not afraid of Magda and did not simply sit at dinner only to say nothing. The translation sounded awful, but she tried. Most women he knew would have remained silent only to speak when spoken too.

_That voice._

Oh how he revered that voice, and under the stars had Teresa begun to sing. Again. His entire body, his soul, quaked when she did. A simple voice, not like the comical operas that his father spoke about. In her voice was honesty, purity, ecstasy.

Yet it brought him no peace.

_And what of God’s Will?_ They had not come across any pirates since leaving the Caribbean and they were almost home. 

***

A knock on Herrera’s door woke him from a peaceful dream. He had settled into his tiny bunk after evening prayers and now had to slip his swollen feet back into the worn sandals. _A priest is never a man of his own. _

“Ah, Capitán, yes. Come in.”

“I must speak with you.”

Herrera could smell the wine on his breath and sighed. “Shall I hear your confession then my son?”

“More than that.”

Herrera turned his head into the moonlight. “The Señorita Teresa, yes?”

“No. No”, he whispered back. Salazar sat in the only small chair in the room and Herrera balanced himself on the edge of the side bedrail. “Do you remember why I agreed to bring you on The Silent Mary? We are almost home and still, I have not completed my mission.”

“And you need my help with this? It is late and I do not think you come to me for that. Tell me what disturbs your soul, Armando, that you come to disturb me! I will hear your confession. Remember that the pure soul, it is like the ocean’s waters – clear, shining, reflective of God’s imagine. But the stain of sin on the soul – it is the black flag.”

Salazar sat in the darkness, tapping his foot nervously. “This journey, it has been – incomplete.”

“Chaos, it is not from God. If you are unsure, you must wait. Be patient. Pray. God’s Will is manifest in peace, calm.”

“I have done this Herrera. I have done all you have asked. Why does this still bring no peace?”

“When you are with her,” he filled his lungs with the night air.

Salazar looked up, reflecting on those words, reflecting on her words under the stars.

“Son, if you place all peace in any person, for the sake of your own contentment in her company, you will remain unsettled and entangled. But, if you have recourse to the everlasting Truth, you shall not be grieved when you feel desolation.”

“Desolation? Padre, have I been deceived? I have terrible temptations. If you knew all the sentiments that are in my soul. I am losing the Faith, I feel compelled to commit the most horrible sins.”

“Courage! You are on the right road! I prohibit you to change your resolutions.”

“It is impossible! My mind is filled with thoughts of hatred and impurity. I do not believe in anything anymore.”

“Ah, but St. Ignatius tells you, you are on the right track! Do not leave it. Continue. Your desolation, it is when the devil is more actively seeking your soul. You are not allowed to change your resolutions.”

“I must do more!” slamming his fist down.

“You will burn the entire ocean and then how shall you continue? What will you rebuild? Who do you trust Armando? Really trust. Me? Lesaro? Magda? Yourself? If you continue this way, the end will be nothing but ashes of your former life. You will remain alone. Alone Armando Salazar. With nothing and no purpose. Your pride, Armando…you must learn humility.”

“Yes, yes. Humility. You see where that left my family. Humility - to grovel at the feet of pirates! I will not die until they are eliminated. Death, I will not accept it!”

“Long life does not always make us better, Armando. It often adds to our own guilt. If it be frightful to die, perhaps it would be more dangerous to live longer.”

“I have heard enough,” Salazar rose.

“Very well, I give you absolution, and your penance,” bringing out a small book that belonged to someone they both knew before they sailed on The Silent Mary. “Pray for the soul of Alejo Lombroso.”

That name. Neither had spoken it the entire journey. 

***

Cádiz, Spain. 

April. Two years before The Silent Mary is sent on her journey of predestination.

Walking down a small cobblestone alley in the old part of the city that leads down to the harbor, an old priest finds the boy who has now grown to a man and who is making for himself a name already among those trying to rebuild Spain’s command of the sea.

“Armando!”

“Yes! Ah Padre Lombroso! Where are you going today?”

“I am afraid I must go to Rome, Armando.”

“Rome?”

Padre Alejo Lombroso was known to all in this quarter as one who never sent anyone away, teaching the youth in the streets if needed. In his community, he stood as a revered scholar for 40 years. He defended and corrected his catechumens in ways that made him worth of the name Jesuit, a true brother to the order’s founder, St. Ignatius of Loyola. Lombroso’s defense and witness for one of his poorer parishioners in a trial before the Inquisition earned him the respect of all under his care. Now older and in no physical condition to make this journey, still he insisted.

“I have received this,” the man’s pale and ink stained hands gave Salazar a folded letter, red wax seal broken, black ribbon hanging from the bottom and caught in the wind. 

“’By decree, Alejo Lombroso is hereby dispensed from all vows and obedience to the Society of Jesus and must vacate…’ They cannot do this!”

“They can. They have. There are those who are bent on my destruction and have taken the only path which will not bring scandal upon their house.” Lombroso shook his head and slightly laughed. “No use fighting about it here. I must,” he took in a deep breath and straightened his back, “I must take my case before the Holy Father. He will listen to me.” He placed a comforting hand on Salazar’s shoulder. “Do not worry my son, I will not abandon you. I would die before I break The Seal.”

“This is my fault. I should never have burdened you with my sin.”

“No. No Armando. I would not see my son in flames of despair. You have done your penance. No burden lay with you. There are a few good families who will take me in on the way and I have my books. I can always work in the hospital or the fields if I need to.”

***

Rome was changing, the energy surrounding her marble façade was changing. The steps to St. Peter’s seemed to know by the change of the light that the days of the Jesuits were numbered. Murmurs from priests who had visited far way lands were just reaching the inner circles of the Prince Bishops. Lombroso’s former order had reached all corners of the world and were happy to have so many converts even with diverse backgrounds. The Jesuits were known for respecting those former beliefs of their converts, trying to incorporate ancient belief systems into the Catholic form.

Lombroso was not here to discuss that. He needed to defend himself. There had been a murder in Cadiz, and rumor was that Lombroso had heard the confession of the murderer and the Bishop ordered him to tell the secret. Lombroso refused. His superiors had wanted to him to break the Seal of Confession and since they did not have the power to excommunicate, nor could they jail him without scandal so they released him of his vows even though he had no desire to leave the Society. He had tried to go through official applications multiple times and was denied an audience with Clement XI each time. He even took to sleeping on the steps hoping to stop His Holiness. Spring passed, and then Summer and as September arrived, he still had received no acknowledgement. It was in that month that Lombroso decided he could wait no longer. A contagious disease had erupted on the streets and the children around him, some of whom he had begun teaching, started to die only hours apart. 

There in the middle of Rome, a hospital was set up. Lombroso had been found on this day, face down in the rain and mud, and brought to the hospital. It seemed the plague would spare no one, certainly not an old man already in weak health. A young Franciscan was ordered by his superiors to keep watch on Lombroso as the fever had made the priest start having delusions. For weeks he stood vigil, listening and writing down all that Lombroso would say. On October second, the Feast of the Guardian Angels, the fevers worsened, and it was decided the man was not long for earth and should at least be given final absolution. The Franciscan was eager to help this soul, the first under his care, to Heaven.

Padre Lombroso, weak and starving still had one task and gave it to the only man he could. “Promise me Jacome. Promise me you will find Armando Salazar before he is given his assignment by the King. Tell him.” His breath was leaving him. “Give him this message: Be careful what blood you spill in the sea – there is much penance to be done for each man you kill. Remind him. His father. Pirates. They are possessed.” Lombroso grabbed his wrist and the young man could only stare with innocent eyes. “Not men. Here,” he forced a small cross in the young priest’s hand before giving his final words to the earthbound, “Ad Maiorem Dei gloriam.”

Padre Herrera’s superiors were not happy that he had made such a promise, but they had too many other cares to argue about keeping him in Rome. The trip to Spain should have been mild, even in winter. Padre Herrera should have seen in the events that unfolded on his journey the foreshadowing of his own life. The message he was carrying should have been simple enough to relay. Yes, should have. The illness that he contracted in Rome manifest itself on Jacome Herrera’s face. The pirates he encountered when he finally arrived on foreign soil, only 30 miles from Cadiz, bestowed on him the limp of a former prisoner. In all, Padre Jacome Herrera offered his sufferings to God as a penance, allowing each tragedy that befell him to be sent to Heaven as a plea to cover the sins Alejo Lombroso may have still carried with him to his Judgement. Herrera was after all, a brother to St. Francis of Assisi, who had carried in his own life the impression of the Wounds of Christ Himself.

One year had passed since Lombroso originally set out from Cádiz and Armando Salazar had heard nothing. No letters, no messengers he sent returned with any useful knowledge. Until one day he discovered there had been wandering the town a Franciscan, one who could hardly walk, one who had looked as though the vengeful hand of God had struck him, seeking him out. Padre Herrera appeared on the docks with a message, and a golden crucifix, for soon to be Capitán Salazar, a meeting which would change the lives forever of both men and bind them in destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translates roughly to “No one becomes evil all of a sudden.” Rules for Discerning the Spirits – Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Society of Jesus (aka Jesuits) and Thomas a Kempis - Imitation of Christ. Both books are still used during Ignatian Retreats. Ad Maiorem Dei gloriam – To the greater glory of God – Jesuit motto.


	13. And All The Future Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bracero has a gift for Teresa. Change of sleeping arrangements proves beneficial for most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: – violence, mental health, language. (and now, back to our regularly scheduled programing)

“YOU.”

Appearing at the door Teresa stood tall, shoulders back, head down like a charging wild animal, with possessed squinting eyes, in front of the men on deck. The wind circled around her face, blowing ribbons of hair in front of those wild eyes. She scanned the deck while under her breath questioned, “Which one…which…one…” She kept rolling her fingers over a soft ball in each pocket of her sweatshirt.

Most of the men turned away to continue their work until the man she was hunting down came in sight. 

Bracero.

The crew parted as she made her way directly toward her prey. He was busy at work, plying his hands to the ropes, but smirking all the while.

Until she stopped ten feet from him.

“YOU,” and she lobbed one ball directly at his head with the precision of 90 year old Abuela’s chancla. _Score 1 Teresa_.

He stopped moving the ropes in his hands for only a moment to look up. “Ha! I am disappointed señorita. I had expected you to find two.”

The only sound was the wind that swept between them across The Silent Mary’s deck. 

Teresa moved a step closer, yelling for all to hear. “Two? Two my friend? Oh, oh, dear Senor Bracero.” And she threw the other item from her left hand at him. “I found all ten!”

He ducked, covering his head and closing his eyes but nothing hit him. Instead, he heard a voice. A shrieking voice speaking in a mysterious combination of Spanish and English.

Teresa started pacing up and down any and all stairs she could maneuver through. “Unbelievable. I mean really. Can you believe this? If I even remotely thought there was gonna be. Get me off this ship. Get me the F off. This. Boat. I need to get off this boat.”

Moss took his eyes off the sea and leaned over to Santos, “Do you think we should do something?”

Santos, mildly amused replied, “You mean other than laugh at Bracero? Yes, he deserves this. She is a very good shot!”

All of this disturbance did not go unnoticed by the vigilant Lesaro who raced to her side. “Señorita, please. You must stop.” He reached his hand out to her but took it back immediately when she stared him down.

“Capitán! I told you! She is possessed!” Bracero was delighted to see she was making his point by her own maddening actions.

Lieutenant Lesaro grabbed his arm. “Bracero would you shut up.” He was attempting to regain control of the crew.

“The Silent Mary is not a boat. She is a grand Lady of the Armada.” Moss yelled down to her.

Teresa marched up the side stairs to Moss who was now holding the rail in from of the wheel tightly and leaning as far back from Teresa as he could. She lifted up on her tip toes and whispered in his ear, “You don’t get it do you.”

Then turning back to the middle of the quarterdeck to continue her bilingual conversation with the gulls and the sea spray and the clouds. “Give me something to work with here! One minute it’s grand and the next you’re gonna tear someone’s head off. I literally cannot take it anymore. So much patience! The birds! The friggin fish? There are giant whales and smelly dead things floating about. I’m so desperate to get out of here I’d even hit myself in the head with one of those blasted coconuts. It’s crazy. You’re all crazy. I totally picked the wrong ship to get caught up on. This is a mess. No, it’s more than that. It’s a full, total, unequivocal _disaster_.”

Capitán Salazar came out from below deck to see Teresa raving mad, pacing back and forth, her face red and her hands flying in gestures as fast as the words leaving her mouth. He was rather enjoying it, Lesaro noticed as Salazar tried to cover his smile with his hand.

The grey clad padre appeared right behind his Capitán, trying to raise his hand in prayer and call Heaven down to bring peace. Teresa quickly turned toward him. “Oh no. Not right now Padre. I mean I’d just. Done. Fin. But no. This is the craziest operation I have ever. EVER. And another thing – I mean this is some Dark Side stuff. R.O.U.S. indeed!” From out of her pocket came the final ball, larger than the two last, its course grey and brown hair covered in bits of dried blood and the scale like whip of a tail curled up, stiff. She leaned over the edge of the rail and because Bracero was unprepared she hit him again, squarely in the chest. Then removing her blood stained sweatshirt and stomping it on the ground, she throwing it in the air where it landed several feet up and tangled in the ropes. 

Salazar intervened and clasped her wrist. “That is enough. Enough!”

“Excuse me?” her eyes wide and defiant. He tightened his grip as her knees bent under the pain.

“I think you have had enough sun for today.” 

“Back to your posts.” Lieutenant Lesaro ordered.

“Oh don’t you dare! Do you have any idea what they’ve done? Rats! Rats, Capitán! Rodents de la plague! I hate rats!” she tried to leave his grip by digging her nails into his hands. The shock hit and she wriggled her arm of his hand.

A litany of curses rose again from her mouth with the same force as the salt from the ocean pummeling her face. One of the men climbed up to try and retrieve her sweatshirt. “Don’t touch my things! Don’t! Stop touching my things! Stop all of it!” Teresa picked up a bucket and flung it over the side. Not content with so little damage she grabbed a smaller cannon ball and threw it. Magda drew his sword.

“Stand down Officer Magda,” Lesaro warned.

“Lieutenant, she is going to kill us.”

“Stand down!”

Adrenaline, that funny hormone which has no equal, increased in her veins as if being pumped into her being by an untrained medic. Teresa could no longer keep on her feet and stammered toward Lesaro, laughing uncontrollably and singing. “If you love Pina Coladas, and getting’ caught in the rain! If you’re not into health food, if you have” lunging toward Lieutenant Lesaro and giving him a wink, “half a brain! If you like making,” She turned back in the direction of the sea, starting to fall over the railing. Salazar grabbed her and pull her back.

“Let go of me! Oh shit. Pina coladas have coconut in them!” Lifting her head up to see the Capitan, who was now holding all her weight against him. “Oh yes, you’ll do very nicely won’t you? Those buttons are ridiculous,” running her finger quickly up his waistcoat from the middle to the top. “Too many really. Too many. Buttons,” and she began laughing again.

The ship was silent except for Teresa’s increasing laughter. Salazar ordered the body of the rats to be thrown over and the decks to be cleared and he then carried Teresa to his quarters. “Moss, stand guard. If she breaks anything,” looking at her, breath still unrestrained like an animal, eyes like viper, “throw her in the brig.” He slammed the door and locked it. 

Capitán Salazar was almost as incensed as she. Bracero was known to be trouble but this, this was more than he had ever dared before. Whatever Bracero’s personal opinions about the senorita were, he had now openly defied laws of The Silent Mary. It could not go unpunished.

***

The late afternoon air spoke only trepidation. The crew knew, they all knew in their hearts the Capitán could do no other than what was expected. Salazar unlocked the door on his quarters and found Teresa curled up on the settee. She had been crying but quickly wiped her face dry when she heard the door. He ordered her to get up and noticed the hem of her green dress was completely torn from having to wear it daily. And now, now she was half naked without the coverings of her sweatshirt. Salazar motioned for Moss to get an extra coat from below. Teresa stood before him, head down and pounding from dehydration. Even the sound of gulls put her close to the edge of wanting to throw up. Moss returned with the coat and Salazar, without a word, only a nod of his head, ordered her to put it on before escorting her back on that unsteady deck.

The horrifying moment had arrived. Bracero was tied to the mast, his bare back visible to the sun. Teresa could not feel her legs. She panicked and looked over at Lesaro, who now appeared as a stoic image against a background of snapping canvas and well polished wood.

It was Lesaro’s unpleasant duty to read the transgressions and judgement. “Disobeying the direct order of a superior officer. Entering a superior officer’s quarters without permission. Intent to cause mischief. Breach of trust. 10 lashes.” Lesaro quickly returned to the space reserved him behind the Capitán.

Her heart racing, Teresa clamored to Salazar’s uniform. “Capitán! Please! This is too much. I beg you, please. Have mercy. He didn’t hurt me. See! I am, I am alright now. Please,” her voice was met by his dominating eyes as the first two lashes met with Bracero’s back. Teresa flinched at each strike. “Please Capitán,” she again whispered.

Salazar finally turned his face to her and he huffed. “Mercy?” Two more blows hit Bracero’s now torn and bloodied back.

“Yes! Whatever you want, I…”

Lesaro met Salazar’s eyes. Even Lesaro seemed to agree with the señorita. “Very well. Eight. But you_ will_ watch.” He forced her body against the rail and stood behind her, his stance wide, bearing down on her so she could not move. Teresa tried to look away as the last four brushes of torture hit their mark. Her defiance was overtaken by his ability to keep her in place. 

The theatrics having ended, two men were assigned to help Bracero down to sick bay. Salazar finally released his hold on Teresa and she rushed behind Bracero, keeping watch that he did not hear or see her. The doctor tried to wave her off, but she shook her head and began helping to clean his wounds.

Bracero could tell a gentler hand was attending him and he jerked back when he realized who it was. “Do not touch me!”

“Would you hold still!”

“Why are you helping me?” 

“Because I do not believe the punishment fit the crime. No one should be humiliated this way. Even an enemy. Especially an enemy.” Bracero felt more humiliated by her helping and he tried to reach back to swing at her.

“Fine then you little shit!” Teresa threw down the cloth and stormed back up deck where she made her way as close the edge of the bow of the ship as she could. She needed to clear her mind, to feel the wind, hoping it would wash away the sound of the whip and the memory of his wounds. 

Officer Moss cleared his throat. “Señorita Romero.” Teresa pretended not to hear. “Please, Señorita. I have my duty. Do not make this difficult.”

“What is it Moss?” she still refused to turn around. The spray of the sea was just beginning to wash her mind and calm her.

“Capitán Salazar has ordered that you collect your things from Lieutenant Lesaro’s quarters and move. I am to oversee this.”

“Where am I to go?”

“You will see Señorita. Please,” he offered his hand.

“I have no choice?” taking his hand and pulling herself back from the edge.

“No Señorita.”

Gathering her things took longer than anticipated. She needed to hide all the extra clothes and bottles she had taken earlier from her luggage. Officer Moss escorted her back to Salazar’s quarters and they entered the darkened sanctuary, alone. _Um, yeah as comfy as his bed is, pretty sure you don’t want me here. No one wants me on The Silent Mary._ The weeping Madonna stared back at her. _No one wants me here_. She heard Moss take a set of keys from a pocket in his uniform and watched as door she had not seen the previous night, another door next to the red and yellow vines, appear. Inside a space the size of a walk in closet, she beheld a small bed with a real mattress, a chest, a crucifix above the window, a wall of books and a wash basin. It was a direct contradiction of the opulence just on the other side of the wall.

“Capitán says you will stay here. Padre Herrera will bring you food in the morning.” Moss then slammed the door.

She tried to place her things in the chest along the wall. The sun had only begun to set. _Bedtime, whether I like it or not._ She had been so used to covering up with Lesaro’s itchy wool blankets that she felt uncomfortable with the lightness of the new softer blankets. Her feet hit something familiar at the bottom of the bed. _My luggage! Still locked!_ Teresa opened it cautiously. She wanted to go through every item, but she resisted, not knowing what Salazar could have planned for her next. There was nothing left to do except attempt to sleep. Resting her head on the silk pillow the familiar sound of the waves along The Mary were her comfort and she counted the crashing waves until she began to dream.

***

Twilight air, a blissful lavender and blush against the fog rolling in to keep the coast in secret, cool and soft and protected, Teresa found herself walking along tan and white granules of sand, the cold foam of the ocean sliding between her feet and the ground. Staring at her bare feet, she let the fringed red seaweed and emerald kelp washing up in each foamy wave brushing against them. The approaching clear wave rushed to her calves and sunk her feet into the wet velvet sand slightly, before returning back to the wider ocean, pulling at the back of her ankles and she dug her heels in further to steady herself. It was home. This was her beach in Monterey. She could smell the dill, the salt, hear the cry of the gulls and sandpipers, hear the bubbles popping like a music box below her feet as the waves kept their undulating rhythm along the shore. The air around her was charged with an energy she could not see. Each new wave depositing more fog, the cold air around her moving in ribbons against her skin. She pulled her wool coat tight and folded her arms under. A darkened misty figure lumbered closely toward her, always staying just between the sand and the deeper water. She could not find her voice, her chest felt labored trying to breathe. Teresa blinked, only to find the figure was now beside her, slowly gliding a hand around her waist.

The figure spoke, though she could not see its face. “We all have nightmares.” This was a tender voice. _His_ voice perhaps, whispered to her ear, yes, but tender, slow, aching. _Nightmare? This is home, on my beach, in the beautiful twilight_. Then with a deep breath he continued, “We must learn to forget them.”

“Who are you?” she timidly asked.

“Pain, Teresita.” His hand reached for hers to place a kiss, frozen as if she had accidently picked up a piece of dry ice. It instantaneously burned until her voice let out a shrill.

“Pain,” he repeated.

The hand pushed her, and she was falling backward, thrust off the beach into mercuric silver liquid and the ocean water, a forceful splash knocking all her breath out.

And she opened her eyes to find her hands clenching the blankets of the new bed, to hear the waves pounding against the hull of the ship, the darkness of night surrounding her.

She screamed again, and then heard the door unlock and saw Salazar’s figure in the candlelight, illuminating his loose white shirt and his arms glowing amber; one ghostly figure disappearing for another.

“I, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered, unaware that he had heard her first scream and shot to her door waiting to make sure she was alright, waiting desperately, longing to hear her call his name. “I had a nightmare.” 

Capitán Salazar had not said a word to her since Bracero’s punishment and the torment broke her. “I’m sorry Capitan. Truly you have no idea how sorry. I, I think I am going mad. I must be. Oh Dear Lord, is cabin fever a real thing?” Holding her head in her hands, unusually calm considering what she had just encountered. “I understand if you want to keep me locked up. I am a danger to everyone here.”

“I do not think you are a danger. I think you are wanting to be home.” _And I could not sleep._ “Tell me what is, disturbing you,” he turned his head to catch her eyes, now reflecting the amber flame with a single waving tear. “I will listen.”

“I don’t think I even know. I was home,” she sat up on her knees in the bed. “Really home and then, I heard the waves and a crash and then Adie was screaming and, I was here again.”

He turned and shut the door, bringing with him the light of that single candle. “Dreams can become very real if you are not used to being at sea. I would not worry.”

The Silent Mary crashed against the increasingly high waves. The closer they were to reaching Spain, the more the tides shifted. 

“Tell me about your home. Where we are going. I know almost nothing about it, almost nothing about,” she hesitated, “you.”

“Tomorrow. Padre Herrera will have books.” 

“No Capitán,” she said and he looked at her, crestfallen.

“Armando.”

“Armando. I want you to show me.” Truth was infinitely more complex. Longing, yearning to be home but also to be touched, to hear laughter and sing with friends. Her deepest inner soul, exhausted from trying. Tired of everything and nothing. Not feeling anything except pain. Physical pain from hunger yes but the desire to be heard, understood, craving a single moment of contact to raise a spark. The only time she found respite was in his presence. His commanding presence.

He hesitated, shocked at her words. “You want to know about, me?”

_Was the man really this dense_? “Yes Armando. I want to know why you are here, what Spain is like, whether…”

_Whether you would like vanilla or rocky road ice cream and if you snore when you sleep and why you make my heart physically hurt_. Pondering these things, she had not realized he was now sitting next to her, his arms around her again evoking the memory of the first time he been so close. Whatever had been in her dream was cold, dusty, like pumice against her skin and he noticed the lingering essence was making her body visibly shake. Here, her Capitán was warm, the skin of his thick hands luxurious but calloused on his fingertips. The shoulders he pressed to her back wrapping their strength around her, she relaxed into them, the heat soothing her muscles in every part of her. She took a breath and leaned her head back.

Any formality was gone, the edge of a deep foreboding precipice before them. She knew, HE knew, they should not be this way. If she had been home in California, the next moment would have involved a lingering kiss, her head tilted back just so, and his hands finding their way through her tangled hair.

But this was not California, and he was El Capitán. El Matador, possibly only toying with his prey. 

“Why did you want to save Bracero?”

“What?” snapped out of her imaginings.

“Bracero. For his crimes he must pay.”

“I asked you not punish him with physical violence. It will only make him angry, more likely to retaliate.”

“Are you saying he deserved to go free? To erase all his debt without remorse? He knew the consequences. His intent was clear. His transgressions against his superiors, against you…” He unconsciously held her tighter.

“Yes, but you could have shown him mercy.”

“Mercy? Again you ask? I did. And for your sake. I assume you only say these things because you have not seen such a punishment before.”

“Okay, look, I admit it was a dick move, and he’s been trying to push my buttons since I got here, but you ordered for him to be whipped! We don’t do that sort of thing. Even the worst criminals have human dignity.”

He got up to see her face to face. “Do you not understand what Justice is?” the internal anger infusing with his tone “Or are you only interested in Mercy without Justice? They must go together. They must! What would you have me do? Better to punish the flesh, now, than to face damnation for eternity.” 

“Damnation? Armando it was a foolish prank. I would ask for an apology but not this violence.”

“If you think it foolish then it would not have affected you so.” _And you, still shaking_. “No, no. There is no other way. If I let Bracero go, he would try to harm you. The other men, they would see their Capitán as weak. It can _not_ be any other way.”

“No one sees you as weak except yourself.”

That was too far. Salazar rose and began to open the door.

“Capi..Armando,” desperation made her call to him. She looked around for anything that she could say to keep him there until finally she remembered. “Thank you for giving me the carry on back.”

He turned his head. “You are welcome. I apologize.” Speaking over his shoulder toward her, his back still solid to her and standing in the doorway. “I should not have kept it from you.” He did not want to leave her in the empty darkness of this room. “There is something you want to tell me?”

Teresa looked down at his feet and ran her eyes up his figure. “I…The pirates on the ship you picked me up from.”

Salazar sighed. He could not leave now, she was either going to tell him she was lying or give him information about how to defeat these pirates the next time they crossed in the sea.

“Speak.”

She rushed to put her thoughts together. “Their captain, he seemed to know exactly where he was going without a map or plans. He had a black box, a compass I think. He was unusually possessive of it. When I was first brought on board there was a fight and one man was killed. Something about the compass being possessed or that it wasn’t working. The boy – he tried to steal it from the captain while he was drunk. The next day they had sailed right into the path of The Silent Mary. To you. Those men they tried to…”

He came back to her, toward her eyes and the rising heat. “No, not men. Pirates.”

She dropped her head. “Yes, pirates.” quietly repeating him. “I remember, his hair, braided with coins and beads,” she was starting to feel the headache again, “he tried. He tried to, and his hands were forced on me. He said he would come back to take me…”

He could not stand to see her shutter from the memory. “Enough. You do not have to say anymore. Forget them. Forget,” as if his words had power of a spell, to command her mind. He leaned in and cradled her head in his hands. _It is only to keep her safe. Safe_. And Armando gently placed his kiss on her forehead. His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke, “I only want to keep you - safe.”

***

_I only want to keep you_.

***

_Then stop leaving me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well… I promise Bracero is not a jerk! He just likes to spice things up. Also, I caution you, dear reader, regarding the “dream” and who you might think the figure is. Hmmmm. Lots of internal dialog at the end. Sorry about that. I’m still learning how to write multiple points of view in one setting.


	14. The Purity of the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swordplay, Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most everyone is speaking Spanish these days.

He pulled his hands away, achingly deliberate, yet somehow unaware that the caress his fingertips left on her cheeks were sending threads of heat to her neck, her shoulders, and her lungs that were being crushed between her ribs and the striking of her heart. She leaned her face forward trying to capture his hands again.

“Good night, Teresita.”

“Good night,” she tried to gain enough breath to speak his name but could not force any sound cross her open mouth.

The door latched and Teresa bit down on her bottom lip. He was gone, again.

***

Teresa had spent the better part of the evening tossing in that little bed, pulling up the blankets then throwing them off, fluffing the pillow and slamming her head down on it, trying to get him out of her mind so she could sleep. It did not matter what position she lay or how often she tried reciting Shakespeare.

“That I did love the Moor to live with him,

My downright violence and storm of fortunes

May trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued

Even to the very quality of my lord:

I saw Othello’s visage in his mind,

And to his honor and his valiant parts

Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate.

So that, dear lords, if I be left behind,

A moth of peace and he go to the war,

The rites for which I love him are bereft me,

And I a heavy interim shall support

By his dear absence. Let me go with him.”

It was no use.

_You’re going to look a worse wreck in the morning if you don’t get some sleep!_ Those were finally the words that forced her to shut her eyes and shut down all the open thoughts in her mind. That sleep was interrupted by the same rhythms that took hold as when an alarm clock is set for early morning but the mind plays tricks and provokes the body to waking every hour. Looking out the little window and noticing the changing positions of the stars in the sky was her only way to tell that time was indeed passing.

Now the sun was sitting above the horizon and the last of Venus’ light had disappeared. 

The laughter of men’s voices quickly followed by the sound of heavy feet running on the deck and the clanking of metal forced her to pull the covers over her head once more. _For the love. _

Teresa woke up to this new sound, in a new room, with renewed feelings.

_“Safe.”_

She heard Armando Salazar’s voice again in her mind as clearly as she heard it last night. _Safe from rats. Check. Safe from myself? Nope_.

Pulling her body out of bed, she regretted ever having fallen asleep. If she had stayed awake she may have escaped a stiff back and sore shoulders. The cold floorboards creaked when she stood up and cool air rushed in between the cracks. Teresa rubbed her eyes and looked around for a wash basin. It was sitting on a niche below a small fogged up mirror with a pitcher of fresh water. As she splashed water on her face, her wet fingers tenderly marked a spot on her forehead. Had he really kissed her there? Her reflection in the little mirror confirmed it, the skin of her cheeks were again the color of amaranth blossoms and chills ran down her back. 

The noise from above steadily grew to a pattern of dashes and uneven shuffling of feet. “Where’s my headphones?” throwing the blankets back and making a good mess of the room. Opening the suitcase she was not sure if anything was missing because she could not exactly remember everything she had packed. A pair of ultra comfortable navy leggings, a dark teal sweater which she only packed because Addison insisted, yellow capris, her two dresses and various bottles were now strewn haphazardly across the bed. She wondered if Cheche and Addison are having the same type of adventure. She was beyond resigning herself that this was all a mad dream or drug induced hallucination. Nothing she had ever felt before felt as real as that kiss. 

Finishing putting her hair up, this time instead of her usual braid she used the black ribbon has a headband, Teresa heard a light tapping on the door.

“Daughter, it is I.” Herrera’s voice was timid. “I have brought you.”

She lunged to the door handle and almost ran the entire door into her foot as she swung it open. “Breakfast!” Herrera stood wide eyed holding a plate of dried fruits. Now the laughter and shouting from above was clear and loud. 

“What’s going on?” trying to stand in the doorway to keep the padre from seeing the disaster behind her.

“Practice. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Super peaceful,” _great, little white lie to the Padre_. “Although, you don’t look like you did. Would you like some of my breakfast?”

“No, I am fasting.”

“Oh,” she shoved two apricots in her mouth. “Thanks, Padre,” mumbling. “What practice?”

“Hmm. If you remain quiet, I will show you. Put the coat on and we shall find you a hat. But you must be quiet!”

Herrera wound his way through a part of the ship Teresa was not familiar with until they reached a small rope ladder. “Absolute silence!” he repeated before balancing each sandal on the frayed and knotted links leading up to a hatch.

Stepping out just behind her surprisingly agile escort her eyes adjusted to the light and the brightness of a wall of stark grey & white shirts. It was an unusual bright day. The ocean glittered. The ship sped through the waters, perhaps knowing that home was only days away and was somehow rushing to reach España’s shores.

The hat provided more shade than her hooded sweatshirt ever did and Teresa looked up at the men to either side of her. They – were smiling. Genuine, playful, beaming. One by one she examined their faces, each held the same expression: smiling and cheering, a brotherhood of the sea. Happy. Not a word she thought she would use to describe this ordered band and their domineering Capitan. The cold and distant soldiers she had met when she was first rescued from the ocean seemed far away, locked behind their full uniforms and maybe that was the difference. Some of the sailors had stayed in uniform, but the Officers had all clearly participated in whatever practice that Herrera spoke of. Even Magda, who while steadily guiding The Silent Mary stood smiling standing between Santos and Moss.

_Where is he?_ Her heart started to beat sharply when she couldn’t find him. _Oh. There. _

_Dead. I’m done_.

Lieutenant Lesaro meticulously folded his uniform coat and laid it on across bench, then stepped into the middle of the ship where Salazar was already waiting. The waves of the light cast a warm hue to his form and he stood ready, sword raised to attack. 

“Come now Lesaro, I do not want to keep the men waiting. You try your Capitán’s patience.”

Teresa slowly moved her eyes up his impressive figure. _Don’t look at his ass. Well what am I supposed to look at? Those broad shoulders? Those arms that could probably pick me up with just one arm and fling me over_. Santos caught her eye, he was smiling directly at her? She slid further back the row of sailors she was hiding behind.

Teresa’s attention was caught by the sound of tearing fabric and a gasp.

“Olé!” Salazar stepped backed and laughed.

Lesaro looked down at the tear on his right sleeve, “Capitán, you seemed to have my spoiled my uniform.”

“Lesaro. Focus.” Salazar tapped his sword on the ground.

Salazar’s stance was strong, wide, grounded. Each thrust vigorous and direct. Lesaro matched him move for move, but with more grace, more elegance, smaller steps. He was in control. And he knew it. His eyes flashed as he knew he was a better swordsman than his Capitán but he also could not make Salazar look like a fool in front of the other men. He allowed Salazar to win the second round. The third and final however, would go to the Lieutenant. He stood there, making small purposeful steps as Salazar circled around him, trying to taunt him into charging and making the first move. Salazar was swift, but not elegant like Lesaro, he lunged forward only to be quickly and finally, disarmed completely with his sword twisted from his hand and flying thru the air as Lesaro caught it. With both swords crossed over each other, he turned to Salazar and bowed. For Lieutenant Lesaro it was a dance. For Capitán Salazar it was a test of total control and strength. They knew each other’s moves too well. Time will do that, and the many opportunities they had in the past to compete against each other and together lead to an ongoing sparring which ran well past the decency of an honorable match. It had been too easy to disarm Salazar. His apparent distraction was not in sight, Teresa kept her word and stayed hidden behind the men.

Padre Herrera left her side to view the competition more closely. However, that did not deter him from keeping watch of her actions. It was imperative he find her when the match was over. “Senorita Romero would you like to talk?”

_Busted. _“Er, um sure padre. What about?”

“I think maybe we should talk in more private? I think it is time for me to hear your confession, yes?”

_So, so, busted. Do I still have drool coming out of my mouth? _

After all the joy on The Silent Mary’s decks, her hull seemed dark, hidden, all the things that reminded her of going down into an abandoned alley that her grandparents would warn about but it was also crowded in a silent way. The men walked by doing their tasks and not say a thing. They knew she was there yet never acknowledged her presence. Some would say excuse me Padre, or good day, as he shuffled along in front of her but nothing directly to her. The room they entered was more like a small cell, and it was obvious this place had but one purpose. She knelt down, opposite Padre Herrera, a simple wood grate separating them. Placing her folded hands on the dry wood shelf she could only sigh.

“You may begin.”

“Bless me father for I have sinned it’s been uh, like six months since my last confession,” trying to remember the words. “Do I really have to say it?”

“Yes child. Wait. Six months? Why do you wait so long daughter?”

“Okay okay. I um. Yeah, can I just…”

“Go through the Commandments daughter.”

“Okay let’s see, One, nope. Two, no, but oh maybe? Three, yeah I missed Mass on a Sunday. But that’s because I was being held in a cell by pirates! Four, no. Five, I haven’t killed anyone but I’m sure I thought about it, probably a dozen times Six, no. Seven, no - I didn’t steal anything but I’ve had a bunch of stuff stolen from me Padre! Eight, I’ve had to swear all sorts of things here but that wasn’t false. Nine & ten, no. For-these-and-all-my-sins-I-am-sorry-and-ask-for-God’s-forgiveness-and-Amen.”

She could hear Padre Herrera’s steady breathing. “Padre?”

“Is that all daughter?”

“Well that’s all the sins I could think of.” 

“What about any sins of the flesh?”

_Awkward_ “Er um.” Still silence from the other side and yet she could feel his eyes like a heavy arrow to her soul. “Alright so I looked at a man with,” she rolled her eyes, “impure thoughts.”

This declaration allowed that arrow to be removed between them and he spoke firmly.

“Are you married?”

Teresa was taken back by the question. “What? No. You know that padre!”

“Are you betrothed to this man?”

“Ugh No, duh. Again padre…”

“Do you want to go to Hell?”

That simple question shocked her. “No, of course not,” she replied like a child who had been scolded for leaving the lights on in a room too long. 

“Then you must stop thinking about him in this way.”

“It was just a thought, it’s not like anything happened.”

“Yes, and thoughts turns to a kiss which leads to more. If you wish to stay out of Hell, I suggest you remove these thoughts immediately. Find something else do to.”

_Easy for you to say_.

“Your penance shall be to place a rock in your shoe for five days.”

“A rock?”

“A small rock.”

_Where am I going to get a rock on this ship? The decks are clean enough I could eat off them. And those boots hitting the floor with each of his steps. Okay stop it._

“It will distract you from your thoughts.”

_Not to mention make me look ridiculous when I walk. _

“Now, your Contrition.” He continued the absolution in Latin.

“…and I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy Grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin.” She gathered her thoughts after his Blessing and wanted nothing more than to leave that little room. Teresa reached for the door, her head down and wrapped in thought when she was greeted, very pleasantly, by the object for her penance.

“Good afternoon Señorita Teresa.”

_Hola, Near Occasion of Sin_.

“I was looking for Padre Herrera. Do you know where he is?”

Immediately her entire upper body flushed red. “Uh yes, he is, was, I was just. Um. Confession. “

“Ah, yes.” Salazar breathed in deeply and he was close enough that she could easily have put her hands up to run her fingers across the medals on his chest. The earlier match with Lesaro left him slightly aching, his hair just enough out of place, and in need of a change of clothes but oh if he still didn’t smell delicious… _Gosh darn I just got out of the box!_

“Herrera is a very good confessor.”

“Yes well, off to do my penance! Goodbye Capitán!” Teresa raced beyond Officer Magda, even past Lieutenant Lesaro and locked herself in her room, shutting door and turning, leaning her back against it, breathing heavily and descending to the floor. “Come on girl get it together. It was last night. Yes, let’s blame it on last night. Don’t be alone with him at night. Or with wine. Or watching him swing that sword around.” She twirled once around in the room and landed on the bed with a sigh. As soon as the thought hit she tried around to find a pebble, anything to place in her shoe. Padre Herrera’s words were harsh but necessary in his mind for her soul. She pretended that he really had her best interest in his heart. “Let’s spend the rest of the day in here. Yes, let’s read. Let’s read.” _These are HIS books_ as she imagined his hands and fingers along the spine of each leather bound volume. “Stop!” frantically pressing down on the rock in her shoe. _This is NOT helping Herrera!_

Two books stood out on the built in shelving. They seemed to be less read or newer, well, new for this time, she reminded herself. The first was a compilation of maps of Europe and the second of various species of birds and plants. She opened to the first plate in the book with plants and ran her fingers on the hand painted design of roses.

It is the special one, it's never seen the sun It only comes out when the moon is on the run And all the stars are gleaming. It's growing in the street right up through the concrete But soft and sweet and dreaming.

There is a rose in Spanish Harlem

A red rose up in Spanish Harlem.

With eyes as black as coal that looks down in my soul

And starts a fire there and then I lose control

I have to beg your pardon.

I'm goin' to pick that rose and watch her as she grows

in my garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music – Ben E King, Rose in Spanish Harlem / Othello Act 1, Scene 3, Desdemona – Shakespeare. Spoons are all used up, please excuse errors.


	15. There Is Something In The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silent Mary comes across a mysterious shipwreck.

Teresa slammed the book shut. The tumultuous disruptions were growing as the day carried on and even her music could not drown out the insidious commotion. Worse, her stomach reminded her that a breakfast of a handful of dried fruit was not going to satiate her ravenous appetite. _I’d give just about anything to be able to order green curry take-away._

Now she had been startled by the sound of musket fire. The single shot caused enough alarm that she threw off her headphones and crawled to the floor. It was Officer Moss’ voice which echoed after, and she thought she heard someone yell to reload. Teresa dragged herself to the doorway and peered under into Salazar’s quarters searching for any clue or movement. It was silent but for her breath reaching across the floor particles of fine dust, lifting and crossing her vision with each successive exhale. And oh did that floor smell musty, like mold spores and talc. She continued to listen with her head to the floor. No previous shots had been fired since her arrival. There was no explanation, no one coming to reassure that the situation was not indeed a situation at all. Determined not to confine herself for the rest of the day under the presumption that the worst, whatever that could entail on a Spanish galleon, was about to happen, Teresa lifted herself off the floor and peaked into Salazar’s quarters. It was empty and quiet except for the shadow walking across his doorway.

“Officer Moss! What are you doing?” It was Lesaro’s voice.

Magda answered back as she listened through the door, understanding only part of his reply. 

The Silent Mary had irrefutably met with the Atlantic’s current speeding them home and hit Teresa’s entire body that she leaned against the door frame to stand up. Magda noticed the door slightly open as the crew hurried around him and he opened the door.

Lesaro crossed her path. “Señorita, you should not be out here right now.”

“Why? What’s going on.”

Cortez rushed between them, answering Officer Magda’s orders. “Yes Señor.”

The Lieutenant put his arm around her shoulder and forced her back into Salazar’s quarters, shutting the two of them in. 

“Guillermo Lesaro I demand to know.”

“Demand?”

Teresa rolled her eyes “Come on. What was that shot?” _Why did he have to be so stubborn?_

“Señorita Romero, you need to obey the Capitán’s orders. Stay here.”

“For how long?”

“I or the Capitán will come get you.”

“What is going on?” her voice now filled with distress.

“Nothing for your concern Señorita.”

“Lieutenant, I can sense when you do not tell me the truth.” 

Frightening her would only lead her to confront Salazar, so Lesaro said the least amount of words he could. “We came across a shipwreck this afternoon. Nothing to worry about, but the Capitán wants to take, precautions.” 

“Pirates?”

“I - do not think so.”

“Guillermo, you would not lie to me, would you?” Teresa grabbed his arm and looked up at him with trepidation in her eyes. “Give me your word.”

He looked down yet could not force himself to say anything, only gently placing his hand on hers and releasing her fingers so he could make his retreat.

“Gui!” she yelled after him and pursed her lips. _Great. _

_***_

The men continued cleaning their weapons as Lieutenant Lesaro fled down the stairs. Officer Magda was still at the wheel, gathering more information. He had sensed no storm yet the clouds were gathering. Or was it fog? They should not have been so close the islands yet.

Lesaro entered the map room. “Pardon, Capitán.”

Salazar only briefly looked up to notice his Lieutenant arrived malapropos.

“I assume you took care of whatever delayed you?” Officer Santos asked, noticing the sleeve on Lesaro’s coat was not up to regulation condition. 

Lesaro only raised an eyebrow at him.

Salazar turned back over the table to the map. “Where is this enemy?”

“Most likely keeping to the current along this island. We could come around from the East, possibly if the wind continues.”

“Very good. How far are we from the island? Could it be wreck from there?”

“No, it seems,” Santos continued, “the debris is mostly contained, here.”

“Send the boats out to salvage property belonging to the Crown and send our _pious _Herrera out with you to pray over the bodies. Moss, take what you see as Spanish goods. Leave the rest to the sea.”

“Yes Capitán. What of any survivors?”

“Leave any pirates to their fate,” annoyed that he had to give a response to what he thought was already a clear order. “We will patrol this area, to the North, and make our way round these smaller islands. It may be we shall have another opportunity for a hunt!”

Five sailors joined Officer Moss and Cortez on the boat to inspect the wreck. Padre Herrera naturally was last to board and Moss rolled his eyes. He had no patience for the priest’s constant tardiness. Splintered netting had been driven into planking and began crashing into the side of their craft. First they encountered more planks, then shards of planks, until the debris was so thick they were pushing it away with the oars just to get through. A few chests with the Imperial Spanish seal floated to the surface, shattered and broken lanterns, shreds of the sails, a handful of wooden crates with no markings at all being thrown in the waves. Then, a familiar working underneath them. The fish were disappearing, a sign that sharks were approaching and they needed to move quickly.

Moving forward into the waves and debris Cortez asked, “What has happened?”

Officer Moss stood up and took the glass looking to the North, then East and back again. Nothing on the horizon. Nothing. It was alarming. A gilded chest with a foreign Imperial crest floated alongside. Then, fully intact, the familiar sign of the enemy - a pirate ship’s own black brand stuck to the side of the boat. Moss reached into the splintery water. The silk flag felt slimy, he had grown such a distain for their lot his hand recoiled back into a fist, not able to actually touch the evil relic.

“Bring all of this aboard,” he barked.

One of the sailors spoke up, “Capitán Salazar ordered us to only bring back Spanish goods.”

Antonio Moss turned to the sailor and drew his sword. “Do you wish to disobey your Superior Officer?

“No Senor!”

“Now, bring it on board!”

The sailor reached down and pulled the drenched and splintery flag to his feet in a slosh of ocean water.

Capitán Salazar was impatiently waiting for their return. “Report Officer Santos.”

“A few crates, some Spanish yes. No sign as to what port they may have left from. It looks as though the ship was completely destroyed.” 

“By whom?”

“Difficult to know. We have made no contact with the rest of the Armada since we left.”

“Perhaps they are destroying themselves eh?”

Officer Stefano Cortez brought the black flag into view of Salazar, who proudly announced, “Pirates. Good. One less ship.”

“Sunk by?” Lesaro questioned. No one had a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers "Would you get to the fluff already?!" Author: OH that. Yes.  
You may be wondering why there were rats on the Silent Mary. My headcanon his that Armando ran a tight ship yes, but he became even more obsessive about it as time and certain events pass. When we finally see him go into The Triangle he is overzealous about details.


	16. De Repente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no summary. There are only feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Rating: Mature** You have been warned.

Evening transfixed itself across the sky and permeated through the expanse of The Silent Mary. This beguiling ship was made for evenings, sailing best under dusk and twilight cutting her hull thru the water and running her sails in the colors of each sunset. Her Capitán entered darkened quarters and strode past the hidden closet as he had done so many previous exhaustive days. That he had not remembered he ordered a woman to reside there was of no surprise, so focused was he on a potential battle in the next days.

The pensive lady listened with her head to the door. She marked each step, each whisper of this dark voice heavy with agitation, could hear the removal of his coat and his folding it on a chair, clanking metals giving the identity of the clothing away. The small oak kneeler underneath him slightly creaked as he placed his weight before the retablo. Latin formed strings of words envisioning hopes of Paradise, an examination of the day, and prayers for the protection of his crew.

He then remembered.

She.

Getting up, he knocked on the petite door. Teresa swung it open and her first words scathingly hit his ears. “Capitán Salazar. I do not appreciate being thrown around like some doll. I am going to remain in control for some of my own destiny and while I’ve been locked in this shell of a room, not told anything about shots fired, which by the way might totally be normal in your time but definitely not mine, I cannot begin to think straight!” Teresa could feel her ears burning red, her fingers frantically tapping against her hip. She was scared, angry, defensive. Mostly scared. 

Silence overcame him…

_See, you told him_.

…only for that moment.

“You will dine with me tonight.”

“Pardon? Did you not _just_ hear what I said?” conflicted between stubbornness and that desire to do just about anything he commanded_. Get him out of that uniform and I bet he’s not as domineering. _

The stalwart Capitán took her hand. “Senorita Teresa Josephina Philomena Romero de Monterey, I request your presence for dinner tonight,” then kissing that hand continued. “I apologize for not sending a formal request via the Imperial Court. We do not have that luxury aboard the Armada’s grandest ship.” 

_Smooth, Armando, very smooth. _Furrowing her brow she wrenched her burning hand away and placed it back on her hip. Teresa was not going to let him off that easy. “Why?” she attempted to gaze into his eyes.

“I will not have a repeat of your actions in front of my crew again. You asked me about Espana because you miss your own home. Your feminine outburst - it is bad for moral.”

What words to make a jaw drop and eyes shoot away from his! Any sensations that had previously taken hold of her flew out those delicate fingers. _Of all the nerve! _

Salazar knew he had upset this, his Spitfire, and responded in a pensive softer voice. “Please, Senorita. There is much I wish to discuss with you tonight. The future. 

Something about the way he said senorita and not called her Teresita placed a flag of caution on her heart. “I see.” _Breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, in and out. Would you calm down already?_

“One hour. You will hear the bell.” Armando Salazar backed away from the door and allowed Teresa to shut it.

Swearing had become for her a sort of release - a joke. It was the shock factor really, using those words to gain attention or to vent frustration. This moment, this very pivotal moment when she wanted to use all the vocabulary buried in the dirtiest part of her mind – she could not find those words. Not in Spanish and certainly not in English. Oddly enough, she started to wonder why she could not remember more English names for things.

“Okay okay. Yes but no, no. Breathe. Breathe. You are a college degree holding adult. This is exactly what you wanted isn’t it? So why are we panicking?” _He wants to see the future? Wear the dress. Show off! _Teresa ran over to the mirror to examine her appearance. “How does he expect me to be ready in an hour?” Time and The Silent Mary’s bells were something she had not paid much attention to. The crew knew, Padre Herrera knew, all she had to do was follow along. Freeing actually – not having a constant time piece on her. Now she had wished some attention was given. Precious minutes could be falling into the ocean and she would not have had grasped the passing. Hers was a frantic pace, swirling darting back and forth from the mirror to her luggage and back again. Once together – the dress, the hair, the earrings, a mist of perfume - oh how she missed that - Teresa felt suddenly awake. _What wonders a touch of soft red lip stain can do_. _I am myself again! Look at you! Go kick some ass woman. _

Teresa held her copper heels to the setting sun, watching the light bounce around the room in fragments of glitter, an image to remind her of one very special occasion not long ago.

***

Cheche was always one for grandeur. Their modus operandi included elaborate entrances and Addison’s twenty-seventh birthday was going to be, as indubitably insisted, a spectacle to rival the Crown Prince of whatever Royal House had been trending at the time. They should not have been startled that night but there were always nerves before anything Cheche put together. The Palace hotel in San Francisco was the quintessential opulent location with its indoor swimming pool and The French Parlor, so pale and gilded, but this night dressed in pure late 1970’s Disco ostentation. The trio stood together on the other side of two grand entrance doors. Beyond those doors a space, filled with Adie’s one hundred distinguished and venerated friends waited. Dripping in gold metallic polyester costume that accentuated each gesture, each movement of wrist, every colored spotlight exactly planned out and choreographed by Cheche the Divine Master of Show, placed the muses center of this invention. This was the final moment when Teresa knew her life would be changed, would always have their support, through hell or not. And that evening was to be Heaven! Cheche handed the girls microphones. This was it. Amateur theater, opera, screen, they had done it all. This, this was a performance piece. The music struck, the doors opened, the spotlight hit her in the face making every move easier as she could not see the audience, forcing her to look down at her copper shoes and just before they were to dance into the room, Cheche put an arm around her waist. 

“Confidence mija,” then took her hand and lead the two muses down the center of the banquet room.

Fame, makes a man take things over

Fame, lets him loose, hard to swallow,

Fame, puts you there where things are hollow 

Fame, it’s not your brain, it’s just the flame

That burns your change to keep you insane

Fame!

***

Salazar stood in front of his Bacchus, contemplating what the Roman god would think of the dinner scene before him. He stared into the eyes of the painting waiting for a reply and as he took a first sip of wine, slowly turned when hearing the latch on her door.

_Confidence._

Teresa entered his quarters as Venus emerging from her shell.

“Good evening, Capitán.”

It was not that Armando Salazar, decorated Naval Capitán of Imperial Espana, had not seen the feminine form before. No. He had many times. Reality presented him no painting, no tempting voluptuous marble statue, nor a woman that had been taught how to lure men into their beds for a salacious rendezvous. This was the woman he had spent the last weeks watching intently with the stark proposal of gathering information. To not upset her but to gain her trust. Teresa Romero was turning into more than a vessel of knowledge. Her stubbornness, her wild temper, her mystery, her manner of displaying that voice, her own investigation of his men, she was seeking as much knowledge as he and yet where these not qualities of a leader? No woman he had known, other than the Queen herself, displayed these things and he asked Teresa to dine alone with him. Was that wise? His own mind conflicted with his heart. Her fluid movements were as enthralling as her voice. Herrera’s advice - damn that advice. What did he know. A silly priest with little worldly experience giving advice to El Matador he thought, and raised his head slightly higher to consider this vision.

There, his own Roman goddess, seemingly untouched by this corporeal world, draped as the Ocean Herself in pale white to blue ombre chiffon and dark teal ribbons crossing her waist, waited for him. Soft curls cascaded down on one bare shoulder almost to her waist. The smooth beauty of her chest gently rising with each breath. There was nothing modest about this gown, she dared leave enough to the admirer’s imagination and yet convey that the wearer indeed meant to be the center of the room. Was this enough glimpse of the future for El Capitán? Walking toward the dining table, the skirt opened in front enough that he caught sight of the top of her knee.

Dinner was “easily pleasant” she had responded when asked. Pleasant: a word used in polite company to describe a situation where silence and yearning to escape from could be felt between all attending parties yet neither accepting there was a potent ignition laying at their feet.

Pleasant. She might as well have also said dangerous.

Looking around, she could not bear to find his eyes making contact with hers. She rolled her glances in every direction except directly in front of her where he had placed himself. It was horrifying uncomfortable. When he did manage to hold her gaze Teresa would blink rapidly and move her eyes again or start pushing around the food on the plate. There were no words from his mouth yet her body directly responded to every twitch and movement he thrust toward her. Especially when he placed his hand on the table, outstretch, daring her to touch him.

“MMm! That reminds me!” Teresa struggled to take something out of the dress pocket then getting up and walking to the Velasquez, “Do you mind if I take a photo of this?”

“Take?”

“Yes look. You wanted me to show you the future. Behold!” showing him a perfect copy of the colors on the wall. “I could even take a photo of you, so - ”

“No! 

“Yes yes, it will be fine. Here, move your arm, um, this way and say cheese. No, um, Pirates?”

“Pirates?”

Bringing his torso into frame Teresa bit down on her bottom lip. He looked so serious. So commanding. So…blurry! Teresa snickered then outright laughed. “Oh no, sorry that did not turn out.”

“Allow me to see.” Armando held his hand out but she refused to relinquish her phone. 

“Look, there are other pictures!” she started to go thru some from vacation when the ominous rectangle appeared, the flashing warning of low memory and her smile disappeared.

“What is wrong?” he sat at attention, cautious to move.

“No room. Never mind.” Teresa sat back down to her uncomfortable chair placing the napkin on her lap only to drink the rest of the glass of wine silently. _Time to address the proverbial elephant_.

“What will you do Armando? If they are pirates.”

“What is necessary.”

There was no point in continuing the meal. Teresa’s appetite, well, it was no longer for food. She scolded herself for not eating more and kept repeating in her mind Cheche’s words: Confidence, worth, ass-kicking. When she had first met El Capitán, Teresa saw him as indifferent, cold and stark. Now the entire situation turned intensely complex. And then another of Cheche’s phrases returned – ‘sweet yoke of love’ and she shuttered in a quick deep breath.

Armando must have seen the outward signs of her inner confession as he rose from his chair, offering to pour another glass.

“No really, I shouldn’t have anymore,” covering the glass with her hand.

“Ah, the good Padre.”

“What?” The comment startled his guest and she looked down, face now blushing. _What did he and Herrera talk about? Oh please no. That was supposed to be secret!_

“Jacome Herrera. He does not approve the drinking. It is partially his influence why my men do not, even in port.” 

A grand sigh of relief escaped yet her nerves were not quelled. “Nothing else hidden in that cabinet? No rum I suppose?” She leaned the chair on its back two feet and almost toppled over. “Sorry, no of course not. You wouldn’t. 

Armando wavered then strode to his desk. It took a large key and the correct pressure to open this drawer in his desk. He produced a large brown bottle and two small finely etched glasses holding them up for her to see. “No?” he remarked, bringing them back to the table and filling them to the top.

“To España.” 

“To España,” her reply mildly enthusiastic. 

“To the Silent Mary.” 

That one she could be joyful about. “The Silent Mary!”

“To the future.” 

“To,” her hand consumed with tremors, “the future,” sipping only a little as the burning liquid snaked down her throat.

At last she rose and endeavored to retreat from the emotions assailing her soul. She felt warm and dizzy. “Well I’m plastered.” Armando did not understand. Teresa took the half empty glass and held it between her sight and a candle mounted in gold on the wall, turning the waves around the crystal and distorting the light. “And I think, El Capitán Armando Salazar, that you are drunk. Yes. Three, no four, yes three! Sheets to the wind!” a graceful arm cutting thru the air and skirt a swirling wave on the floor. “Inebriated, intoxicated, call-me-a-cab-because-I’m-not-driving,” she flung herself in the most un-lady like way on the settee across from him, “Drunk.”

He turned the corner of his mouth. “Yes I do think we have had more than I would normally allow. Have you ever been intoxicated before? Or is this your first time?”

She had been correct. It was going to be his smile that wounded her, along with those long thick eyelashes - how dare he have such lush eyelashes! She was intoxicated alright. On him. “Capitán, I have been in this state at least,” counting on her fingers, “Three other times. Naturally this is more of a fluttery butterfly darting in and out of milkweed, there but for the grace of God go I, sort of thing.”

“Three sheets to the wind?” he questioned and raised his eyebrow taking a place next to her.

She covered her mouth with both hands, relinquishing the glass. Ah but Salazar was quick and before the liquid spilled onto her lap he caught it. 

“What is it?”

“Oops?”

_I am undone. Again. Can I please press my finger to his lips? _ Teresa wondered why he had closed the curtains. It was too claustrophobic. It was too dark. She wanted to see the sky and the waning moon. “You want to know something? I told Padre Herrera I would not drink with you. I should like to go look at the stars!” She got up and briefly headed toward the door yet paused when she remembered the last time she attempted an escape from his quarters.

“I do not recommend you leave, Teresa.”

“Look, I’ll hold my hands up like this,” turning toward him and holding both arms outstretched and thumbs up between them, “and I can toootallly walk a straight line right? Right. Across.” He smiled again and she lost her concentration. “The desk and slide-right-into-the-top-sails.” 

“Desk?”

“Deck.”

“Did I say desk?”

“You did,” he nodded. 

“Fuuuu…I mean. It’s late isn’t it?” 

“Not too late, the sun has only set.” 

“Why does it feel like Midnight already?” looking down at her heels and feeling like all this would disappear Cinderella-style.

“That is a very specific time.” 

She squinted her eyes at pointed a stern finger at him, “Look Cap-E-TAN you _still_ haven’t told me why I’m here alone with you? Did you plan on getting me drunk and think I would tell you some other story? Try to retrieve some other ‘truth’ out of me if I were…?”

He watched her index finger reprimand him. “The thought had crossed my mind.” 

“No dice amigo. I am telling the truth and I have from the beginning. You don’t trust me! Perhaps it is I that am looking for information? Truth?” hands back on her hips and head up, her accent now turning less Spanish and more the metered Shakespearean she would fall back into when her mind wandered into existential thoughts.

“What truth? Or you do not trust yourself,” leaning forward as if to rise.

“I’m not that compromised Saladbar. And don’t start getting philosophical with me!”

“Sala-thar.” If she was a spitfire before, he thought, the rum was turning her into a vivacious siren making him the willing participant of that incursion. 

_Thar? Damn that Spanish tongue! _She caught herself on the table next to him. “Armando, I keep telling you. I would never allow myself to be controlled.” That was a lie. She was about to abandon her control to him that moment. Yes, right then, very willingly. And to no one else. “Look, I’m the mom in my group of friends and I…”

“Madre? You, have children?” clearing his throat and sitting back up uncomfortably in the settee.

“No, no, no! It is a phrase. It means the person in the group who is the most-est responsibbblyy. The one who carries band-aids and gets you out of trouble before the commissario arrives. Er, I mean not that I. Doesn’t matter.” 

“Senorita Romero, you are a very interesting person.” In the rush of intense and mounting lascivious desires invading his mind, Armando grabbed her hand and pulled her closer meaning to bring her to his lap. She had to balance herself to stop from tripping on his boots and backed away before falling.

“Interesting?! That is all? Well, then. This is getting tiring,” Teresa tried to pull her hand away and fake a yawn when what she really wanted to do was straddle his lap and toy with those buttons again. To Release him from their bondage, imagining what strength may lay beneath that uniform. Run her thumb along his bottom lip, testing his reaction if she…“I need some air. If you won’t let me walk by myself would you escort a girl to see the stars again?”

“No that is not all. Still, you cannot leave. If my crew see you in such a way,” his breath no longer steady.

“Ooohh! You think I am going to tell the entire ship that it is their very own El Capitán that keeps a super sneaky stash of the good stuff just because, and we call it Sacramental Wine yeah? Well, what do you want to talk about to pass the time? Of course, you could just make me some coffee,” raising her eyebrows. “Then I’ll be up until 3am and sleep all day. Actually that sounds like a great idea. Tell me something interesting,” throwing his own words back at him. “Something about you.”

“Look at me.”

“What?”

“Look at me. You have been avoiding my eyes all evening. Why?” he reached up and rested his hands on her waist and watched her eyes move from his neck, lingering at his mouth, and finally settling on his own eyes.

“I had not realized. I mean I,” shaking against another lie.

Armando sighed. Women he suspected were told to be coy yet she never had given him that impression before this evening. Frustrated at her skittish behavior, he followed his natural inclinations and commanded the room. “And now you will tell me, woman,” head tilted he stared at the ribbons crossing her waist and followed them up to her neck, releasing his grip. “What it is you have been humming all evening.”

One thing was certainly undeniable. The touch of his hand was enough to replace blood with adrenaline and take any dizzy feeling from the drink away. Teresa had spent most of dinner unconsciously tuning her vocal chords and running the lyrics thru her mind. Armando laid back on his settee, one arm behind his head and boots falling over the edge. It was a position reserved for when he felt the effects of drink.

“Teresita, will you sing? For me.” 

She looked back at the curtains, now grateful that his quarters reminded her of a locked jewelry case. Somehow the darkness, the slowing extinguishing candles, – it began to feel safe. Teresa did not care who heard her, how Shakespearean she sounded, and most importantly did not care if Armando Salazar even liked the song. She was too full of emotions that had been forced down partly by Padre Herrera’s words reminding that she needed to never think about this man who was always in her view.

Arrows of his eyes cut into chest, her soul. “Close your eyes. Promise me,” shy and quietly added, “you will keep them closed.” Teresa cleared her throat and quickly looked around for a place to sit, not knowing for sure if he had agreed with her demand. There was a small stool on the floor next to his feet and this seemed to her the safest place. He would be close enough to hear her but far enough away she could pretend it was a dream and block out this intense, still foreign world. _You’re going to sing that one? Yes. Oh we can’t do that. I don’t care. You KNOW he’s going to know it’s about him! I don’t care. I have to. I have to say something. I cannot hold it in. Doesn’t matter. You have to tell him. Imagine the stage. A spotlight. A bigger room!_

Two deep breaths were followed by the closing of her own eyes and folding her hands together on her lap to keep them from shaking. She licked her lips and began.

Mil ojos mirando hacia mí

De los tuyos no puedo huir

Tu mirada me tiene encantada

Si te dejo entrar, estaré equivocada

Otras manos lo han intentado

Sólo las tuyas me ha encontrado

Ya no puedo esconder

El querer sentirte al amanecer

De repente en mí vida

Hay algo que me tiene confundida

No lo puedo evitar, puedo intentar

Conservar el asombro hasta el final.

(A thousand eyes are looking at me

I cannot escape from yours

Your look has captivated me

If I let you enter, I’ll be wrong

Other hands have tried

Only yours have found me

Now I cannot hide

Wanting to feel you at dawn.

Suddenly in my life

There is something that is confusing me

I cannot avoid it, I can try

Keeping the amazement until the end…

Other hearts have been afraid, yours is the only one I want. I will do everything to keep your love…

In your kisses I find the solution)

Teresa feared opening tightly shut eyelids. Feared to see what expression may have overtaken his countenance. The air around the shield she put up was unmoving, no clue of a single breath between them. Wanting for some sign, anything that he was still in the room with her. How could she be sure Armando had not left? Maybe the door _had_ opened. The candle next to her arm flickered warmth against exposed skin yet her body shivered.

However, the imposing Capitán Salazar had broken his word and opened his eyes to watch her in that dimming light and what is more, moved to take a place behind her. The tortuous stinging along her arm was the presence she had reached into the dark for, not the candle. It was the skimming of his rough fingertips tracing up and down her elbow to her velvet shoulder until he stopped and tightly grasped that shoulder. His other hand he clenched around her hair brushing it away from her back to let it fall in front of her. Warm deep breath on the back of neck and the briefest touch of his lips on the top of her spine sent her melting into him as the candle beside her melted down into the wood. She was melting into his half caress. Armando brushed the back of his fingers up her back across bare skin again to her neck. “Where is your crucifix?” Moving to kneel in front of her, Armando did not wait for an answer and slid his finger across her chest tracing the opened fabric of that daring dress. The hand that held her hair captive now moved to her shaking hand, the only part of her Armando would allow himself to caress fully, turning it up to place his full lips on her palm and open wrist.

“Armando please, you’re hurting my wrist.” He quickly opened his hand, stood up and held his arm out to signal his desire that she stand.

_Hold on to me. Do not let go_.

It was a beautiful silence between them. Fire and passion underneath, cold beckoning stars above them and in between Heaven and Hell, these two resided in warmth but not burning, and cooling comfort but not freezing. He shifted her weight to him, enveloping her. He wanted to know for certain the answer to his own desire, and his hand was on her throat as he tilted her face up to his. The truth revealed in her eyes, she had felt exactly as he. But he hesitated and let her go, walking over to the curtain and forcefully opening it to the view of the ocean below. The fear, the one fear he had, was driving its knife of temptation back into his heart.

“You would no longer love me if I revealed who I truly am.” 

“Love you?”

“Do you, do you not?”

“Well I,” _Oh Armando, yes! Yes I love you!_ “I do not know.” She regretted the words immediately and he turned his back on her. Could she not have simply spoken the truth?

“You do not know? I do not understand you. You show these affections, you come in here and speak this way to me.” How dare she wound his heart!

“Please just give me time.”

“Time? Ah, you must have so much of it in the future that you can –“

Teresa rushed back to his side, desperate to explain herself. “I thought, I once thought I was in love, and it turned out to be awful. He did not love me. In fact I was nothing more than a child in his eyes. Please understand I’m still trying to heal from - I did not feel safe.”

He must see her face again and so turned in that inadequate moonlight to her. “You do not need to heal. Here” taking both her hands in his, “I am giving you my word. I tell you that I love you. 

The response of silence only made his heart dive into uncertainty. It was not like him to question his own actions but this, her silence, tore him apart. 

“Tell me, is this desperado still in your heart?”

“No.”

“Prove it to me,” he demanded and stared out the window.

_Demand proof? How can I prove this?_ She deeply regretted her reply and reached for him.

“Do not touch me unless you mean it.”

There was that dark voice again. The one he gave her when she was first presented by Lesaro in the map room. Teresa pulled her hand back and all the things running thru her mind, fear of being hurt, the tension she felt, the shards of every vein in her body collapsing and all the kindness he had shown her rushed to her memory. If she stayed where she stood and left him there, she knew it would never be the same between them. He would remain indifferent, cold. Yet if she reached out, even a brief touch, there was no return from that either. She knew she would never love any man as deeply, and that no one would be able to replace him.

Teresa made her choice. She held her arm into the darkness and rested it on his. He looked down at the soft skin hovering above his arm, then sharply turned leaning her back, forcefully sliding his hand to her neck, the pressure of his thumb making a crease rubbing down from the back of her ear to her shoulder, then sliding his hand along that shoulder removing the strap of her dress. The room was washed with half- burned candlelight, a shadow of the gilded glory it had looked in the daylight. He pressed his lips to her cheek, marking her breath, her sigh, her trembling face and when he could no longer hold back moved his lips to cover her wine stained mouth. He began to exchange the taste of her lips for the luxurious softness of her throat as she arched up to allow every brush of his kiss to explore her.

“Tell me.”

“Yes, Armando.”

“Say it. Tell me you love me. I love you, my own Beloved.”

“Armando, I do love you”, she had forgotten about the rock in her other shoe. So much for distraction and penance. “I just want to feel the grass under my feet, and the stillness of the air, and hiking a mountain…” She was speaking nonsense.

“Shhhh.”

“Hmm?”

“Shhhh.” And he? He wanted to feel what it would be like to devour her. He drove his hand up along her bare spine to the back of her neck where his fingers then splayed open into her hair, slightly pulling back. The fire he was causing in her core, slaking down to untouched places, consumed her.

“Teresita,” he forced her eyes up to him. “Usted se someterá a mí.”

A weakened half shake of her head in false decline.

“Please,” he requested, with panting breath and heavy eyes.

She had not meant to kiss him again, right then. Not meant to surrender. She was not even sure where she found the ability to clench tightly her fingers in his dark locks and wrench him down to her lips. Just like she had not meant to untie the knot in his cravat but when he moaned, deeply as his neck became exposed, there was no way in the commotion to stop. The silk was easily wrapped in her fingers and flying off his body. As he pulled her tighter the buttons on his waistcoat dug into her skin. The moans in her kiss were now from pain and he back away to let her remove the obstacle. Hands placed over hands, and all those buttons, some of them pried off so hard they fell to the floor, inched the two lovers closer until she felt only the thin layer of his shirt and her dress between them. No power in existence could have separated her body from his, languishing in this long waited for heat. Wanting. They had gone past that emotion hours ago. This was now passion, impulse, carnality. And it was she this time that brought him to this salacious precipice. Teresa opened her eyes to evaluate her actions. The man was a disheveled beautiful mess.

Slipping her shoes off and stepping on his foot to get on her tiptoes on his boots he let out a small whine when she did. “Oh, sorry!”

“It is nothing,” and he tried to twist his foot.

“Is there something wrong?” 

He only smiled back and leaned down to kiss her. Teresa stopped him, quickly pulling her face back with the realization. _He has a rock in his boot!_ “Rock.” She questioned looking up with an eyebrow raised. He nodded and smiled knowingly. They were both at the mercy of their confessor.

“Again?” Teresa turned her lips up to his. Armando would obey this time, pulling her arms together into his chest. Gently, gently, sweeping his half open mouth against her imploring body, begging this time to be grasped. A surrender for a surrender, both submitting to each other’s plea. 

He needed to cease and simply hold her, to hold his fascination of their actions. “There,” he lay one small kiss to her forehead before he turned her so they were both facing the open ocean, his arms encasing, and heart now conceding, that she was his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Title – Music – Soraya / De Repente, Suddenly (English version for translation but it sounds so much better in Spanish, which is the language Teresa is singing in - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmX9wBe3we8  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NU7X2IcTj0  
https://spanishsongstranslations.blogspot.com/2011/10/soraya-de-repente.html  
Usted se someterá a mí – You will submit to me.  
Thank you all for sticking around with my story. I have been waiting for so long to bring you this chapter! The evening is not over yet.


	17. And All the Winds Are Like A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening is not over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating M for mild content. (this chapter may be edited more later)

“Armando,” she slipped through his arms to turn around. “I want to apologize,” realizing that as she had turned her body his hand plunged under the soft fabric of her top and his palm now firmly held her placing his thumb at her peak, her breath hitched.

Each time she spoke his name a rush of heat gathered at the bottom of his neck and branched across his shoulders, the vibrations of her voice not entering his ear but being whispered directly into his bones. He wanted to hear it over and over again, to force his name across her lips with emotions from every potential corner of her soul. Supple weight filled his hand, the pressing of his thumb down, harder, knowing this was making her being tremble. He only smiled, bringing his lips to her ear and sealing his arm to her torso holding her up. “Apologize? Lie to me again and you will not have the opportunity to apologize.” Those broad fingers placed in such an intimate area began clenching her, almost scraping his nails into her delicate skin. Teresa’s eyes invited him to tease her more and he was rather enjoying watching the illusionary control escape her. With excruciatingly tender movements Armando was playing with the fire in her eyes, taming her heart.

Teresa’s hips started to arch toward him hoping to gain some balance.

“No,” unfolding her body beneath him. “This time I make the demands,” sinking his mouth into her neck, forcing her arms to drop behind her and clasping both her wrists together with his other hand. Taking solace in the scent rising from her valley, the perfume of orange blossoms of April, his signs of passion vacillating between lips and tongue were coaxing that voice of hers to sing his name again and again.

The sensation he was arousing in her, she could not see anything but a brief glimpse of stars as he bent her down, the ever-present sound of waves crashing now overtaken by dark vibrating sighs against her skin. Soothing waves of heat proceeded from his mouth hovering slightly above where his hand cupped her exposed to the night air. Armando was enjoying the flush across her skin that he was causing. Teresa placed her chin down and pressed the side of her face to his hair, deeply inhaling. As her breath liberated in short pulses from her lungs, she kissed the top of his ear then dared to repeat the proclamation of her heart. She should not have spoken. All this proved to do was drive his attention back to her mouth and he, spreading her lips open with his tongue, returning the sound of her own name in gasps between each caress.

“Armando, please. I need to catch my breath. Please.”

The windows, the floor, the ship herself seemed to her to be rolling apart under her feet and letting in the cold air rising from the Atlantic below them. Teresa tried to set her feet solidly on the floor, a small grasp of reality in this trance of his ravishment. There it was – the tang of sea salt. But this, this was cleaner. And the dill which weaved between each inhalation - like Monterey. Like home. 

Monterey.

No.

Miami.

She jumped back in terror and would have fallen had he not had his arms firmly around her.

The shock in her eyes reminiscent of the panic he beheld in her first days aboard screamed out. Something had reminded her of the nightmare, he could see it. “Beloved.” Armando called into her soul to try and bring her back from the memory. “Hold on to me,” lifting her up by the hips off the floor to be face to face. 

A ghost of breath passed between open lips. Once. Then again. Again. The rise and fall of his chest united and pressing against hers. Breathing together.

“It was not real. Remember? I told you it was not real.”

Teresa buried her face to his shoulder, brought her arms into him and only nodded. She began to cry quiet and joyful tears knowing this man was accepting her, as she was, frustrated and sobbing and delirious. Accepting her with her doubts and her story.

The ease with which he picked her up and carried her to his secluded room matched only his urgency to again have his flesh against hers. He sat back on the bed letting her settle on his lap. Caressing her hair, the tresses gliding across his lips, Armando closed his eyes refusing to let his body take over his mind. Restraint. Passion yes, but this felt peaceful - that box of peace in an orb of chaos he was living in. He was not willing to give up that peace so quickly. She sang for him, he only needed to ask. This woman had truly pierced him, body and soul. “Sleep,” still gliding his fingers along her forehead. “I will have you.”


	18. By Order of The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silent Mary has come upon her prey, and an unexpected ally.  
Посвященный : мои дорогие мальчики курска. Спасибо!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating M – Violence and descriptions of violence, death and repercussions.

Dawn broke and sunlight pierced the eyelids of the aching Capitán. His legs unusually tense he arched to straighten with a deliberately long and slow stretch. Woven in his bed the edge of his fingertips held the memory of last night’s ardor, of whispered desires and exuberate kisses to his mouth, of all the temptations coaxing his body awake and searching for her warmth.

She was not there. Not even the smallest remnants recalled her presence on the neatly folded blanket as threatening anxiety took over the memory in his body. He was certain that he had somehow frightened his Teresita, always foolishly reminded that his actions were never inconsequential. This terror made him rise harshly, fighting the rush of blood to his head as he strode into the main quarters. Precious evidence of the evening lingered - the wine glasses, her shoes, his uniform carelessly strewn on the settee. He allowed her to bring a strange chaos into these private rooms and as painful as the loss of her at his side felt, this disarray was biting into his self-control.

The latch on Teresa’s room clicked and she emerged with a winsome bright smile on her lips. “Good morning Armando!” humming her greeting and falling into his embrace. Had he not only a short few hours ago held her this tightly? Still, his arms craved her. Armando tried to place a kiss on her forehead, and she lifted her face taking control of the few loose strands of hair in his eyes.

“What is this on your head?” he questioned, placing his hand on the brim.

“Capitán,” using his title knowing it would cause him to scoff. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize this most practical yet stylish chapeau! Everyone will want one in the future!”

He removed the tricorn from her head and let her braid spill down over her dark teal sweater. “This is for the uniformed men. It is not for a lady.”

“Oh please may I keep it though? It’s so bright on deck and I –“

“Capitán.” Outside Salazar’s door an agitated Officer Santos sounded into the quarters becoming more insistent each second. “Capitán!”

Armando grumbled and pulled Teresa closer.

“It’s not his fault. I will see what he wants,” she gave another tug to his hair, snatched the hat from his hand, pushed it down on her head and carried her song across the room. 

Santos stepped back as Teresa cautiously placed her body between the door and the rush of the outside world. The deck of the Silent Mary seemed plunged into chaos.

“Good morning Senorita.”

“Good morning!” flashing her smile in a painful attempt to keep him from being suspicious. Poor Diego began to blush. _What visions he must be thinking_! There was a reason he was highly trusted, and one of Salazar’s most sagacious tactical officers. He was observant, quick, and always evaluating body language. He gave a strange glance to the hat. Teresa knew she would have to be subtle to not raise his suspicions about why she would not let him in.

“I heard your knock all the way in my room and I wanted to get coffee anyway so I thought I’d um, go get some. How are you?” _That went brilliantly._

“Yes, I am well. Thank you.”

Gulls raced thru the sails behind him and her eyes wandered overhead to follow their dance. She had not recalled seeing so many birds since the first day leaving the coconut infested island and she hoped it was a sign that land, yes even the shores of Cadiz which she feared, were close. “So, do you um, need anything? I guess you are here to talk to the Capitán.” Rocking back and forth on her heels while still keeping the cold bronze handle of the door firmly in her grasp.

“Again, yes,” and he tried to force his way to the door behind her.

“I don’t know. He seemed rather grumpy.” Her efforts at stalling him dwindling quickly. “Do you like my hat?”

“I need to speak with the Capitán,” he pushed his way through.

Teresa looked over Santos’ shoulder at Salazar who now had his hair and uniform in meticulous order except for the rough shadow appearing on his face. The morning light caught some of the buttons on the floor and she pursed her lips, blushing. _Shit_.

“Capitán,” Santos looked over at Teresa from the corner of his eye then continued, “Orders to report the sighting of a ship.” These were meant to be words between Officer and Capitán and he was unsure how much to say in front of – her. The little interaction between himself and Teresa solidified that he was not prepared to make a judgement yet on this guest. What the Capitán thought of her, even Lesaro, who would threaten any speech between the crew about Senorita Teresa with creative and what he sometimes doubted would be legal punishments, Santos had nothing to compare her to. Still he felt uncomfortable. Her movements too quick, too expressive. Maybe if she had been a dolphin or the Countess Trifaldi, leading the men on a mythical chase.

“What ship?”

“Not positively identified.” His attention quickly called back by the question.

“Return to your post. I will meet him on the quarterdeck.”

Teresa made a motion of her fingers up and down the front of her sweater to Armando, whispering ‘buttons’ and ‘I’ll get them.’ It would have made Armando blush if he had not been so proud of his past evening’s accomplishments. She filled him with a boldness beyond his mere actions as a Capitán, rather he was reigning the empire of the sea. Yes, King of the Silent Mary –now he only needed to anoint her as Queen. “Stay here, I will have one of the men bring your breakfast.” Before he walked on deck he took a moment to note the way the sun did pierce her eyes, the variations of green tumultuous as the sea below them.

There was a flooding brightness to the sky this morning as the Silent Mary continued her climb through the waves, splitting each with marked precision and casting off the ocean water in foam at each crest. Salazar allowed himself minute of calm taking in the pitch and rolls of his magnificent ship. He was dissatisfied with the reports he would be making to the Admiralty. Two ships destroyed and captured in the Caribbean, one that had evaded him – this was unacceptable - and wreckage from one unknown pirate ship although he was confident that if he could have seen the debris for himself he could have named that vessel. It was this last ship, this wreck, which placed in mind at least three options for the cause. Pirates, that lot of disorder and chaos, could have attempted a mutiny and ended up sinking their own vessel. Lesaro had also suggested the ship could have hit a reef as there were several in the area and they were close enough to the Azores. Magda disagreed with his usual impassive expression. He often conflicted with Lesaro in matters of tactics simply as a principle. They sat across each other only to play devil’s advocate and when one would suggest something, the other automatically questioned. Salazar did not mind this, rather he welcomed the opposing ideas so long as the two men keep civil about it. The last option, the most logical and therefore most likely correct, was that another Armada ship not far, who had not made contact with Silent Mary and had taken on the pirates herself. They were close enough to home and The King was eager to rebuild the former dominance of the ocean. Still, no ship, no Capitán in any Armada could match Capitán Salazar’s record of destruction. Quick, direct, efficient. It kept the risk to his own men at minimum and as for the pirates, every battle he would hear Lombroso’s words creeping forward. Those pirates unlucky enough to die quickly, Salazar left to the fate of the sea. The jaded pain of war had not yet made its full mark on his soul.

News of the approaching vessel lead Salazar to the conclusion that it would be an Armada ship and he would have the opportunity to know what pirate name would be extinguished from his logbook. The only crisis seemed to be what orders to give Teresa. She had endeared herself to his men but still showed defiance. There was a secret to be kept which they had not discussed, the greatest obstacle to her future. Under no circumstance could she tell anyone what time she was from. Could she be trusted with secrets? Could she control herself enough to not be carried away with intrigue and gossip from the Court? Gossip. Salazar was going to have his way there too. His protection would secure her from that vice.

A shout from the crow’s nest turned both the Capitán and his Lieutenant’s attention to the horizon.

“Ship to port! Pirate!”

The distinct black flag bolding rising between battle worn and patched sails, Lieutenant Lesaro knew immediately the English vessel. “He is correct Capitán. Pirates.”

“Is it the same one as before?” Santos asked.

“No,” Lesaro raised his telescope unable to clearly see the figurehead.

“Capitán,” Officer Moss was the first to speak once the design unfurled proclaiming their identity. “It is the Glorious Orion.”

Lesaro shot him a cold look.

“Escorpión Mortal?” Santos took the telescope and returned his view to the ship, following up the mast. As the flag came to full the markings were clear: three diagonal stars and below in the center a simple and crude skull.

The Silent Mary was helmed by El Matador del Mar and the Glorious Orion commanded by her own Butcher. A short, stalky man, with a long and bold scar across his nose cut down to his chin and a gaping hole where his right eye should have been. The French inflicted the wound and the captain refused all vanity to cover it.

The Spaniards named him Escorpión Mortal, the English simply addressed him as The Hunter. And while the Spanish would constantly boast that no ship was a match for The Silent Mary, they were forced to concede The Glorious Orion was the proportionate competition.

A younger deckhand working frantically dared to ask. “Who is Escorpión Mortal?”

“A devil pirate! With hooves instead of feet and flesh-eating worms that he uses to-“

Officer Magda intervened. “That is enough Bracero. Capitán Ganas is nothing more than a coward who uses his men as a human shield and runs at the first sign of honest engagement. He is an enemy of God and King. Back to your post.”

“Capitán Salazar has fought him before?” the boy turned back to Bracero.

“The first year we were in the Caribbean. There were little ships between home and those islands and we would pick them off one by one. Didn’t even need to use all the cannons. They would see us and stupidly try to run or scream and surrender. I liked those ships best. Nothing like making a pirate shake like a virgin bride on her wedding night yes?” Bracero looked over his should then leaned, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder and whispered. “Until the Glorious Orion.”

Secure that he had powered enough images to the boy’s mind, Bracero returned to the ropes and yelled out. “The Mary can take her!” Bracero was again too eager, forcing Magda to take a stand between he and the rest of the men.

“You will have your revenge Bracero. Patience. And I have told you once, enough. Stop with your tales or I will inform the Capitán.” Magda too was unfortunately well acquainted with the destruction The Orion inflicted on her victims and her crew’s reputation. Bracero was correct, the same sails appeared on that first voyage and it was the men’s first true test of battle. They had lost so many men, friends, even the Mary herself was not spared damage. This was not a confrontation he had ever wished to see again.

“Capitán. This will not -”

Salazar voice was the embodiment of defiant resonance as he began his methodical check from his command post. “Do you doubt The Silent Mary? Come now Magda. Today we rid the seas of the _Glorious_ Orion. Secure the lower deck guns. We will wait for Escorpión to make the first move.”

Arriving on deck with a violet stole over his shoulders, gold aspersorium clanking and sloshing holy water, Herrera made his way to the bow. “Here I am Capitán! Here I am!”

“Yes, yes Herrera. You may,” Salazar sighed and waved his hand toward the frail man. “begin your Blessing.” This ritual Salazar allowed, especially when he discovered some of his men refused to report to stations until Herrera provided them with absolution. The Capitán did not want superstition to arise around this man, though he confided that the few times Herrera did not begin his prayers before battle they had a difficult time. Perhaps the Franciscan did have some

Only the angels could hear the supplication he tried yelling above the winds and clamor to the Heavens. “Diligently examine your conscience! To the best of your power cleanse and purify it by true contrition and humble confession so that there be no weight of soul to give you remorse and hinder you free access to Heaven. Should you take another man’s life, it is in defense of the Crown and the Merciful Lord attend! You do so by the order of the King! Our King who answers to God alone. His Majesty forgives you any offense, as do I.” Walking the perimeter of the deck blessing the men, each making a silent and quick sign of the Cross as the water from Herrera’s brush landed on them. “Thy sins are forgiven as is any temporal punishment due them. Amen.”

Lesaro could hide his concern from the crew but to Salazar the dread in his Lieutenant’s eye was clear. Salazar quickly nodded. Lesaro understood and left the Capitán’s side.

\--

Teresa knew. She knew the instant Santos knocked on the door this approaching vessel would be pirates. She knew Lesaro had lied to her and now her confidence in the Lieutenant waned. Here, he now presented himself in Salazar’s quarters to give warnings and orders.

“Pirates,” she whispered.

“Yes.” He continued explaining that under no circumstances was she to leave the room. He tried to soothe the fear from her shaking hands and the anxiety from the noise of cannons being rolled to position. Battle on board the Silent Mary was no place for unprepared civilians and could only be equated to be as terrifying as Hell. The ship would roll and turn, the smoke, the chaos, but it was all commanded by Salazar and he had proven his command of the waves. Pirates acted erratically and the surest way to keep the souls on board out of danger was relentless and rapid succession of assault. The more cannon fire, the further away the pirates and the safer the crew.

Memories of his own first battle were not as traumatic as some of the younger crew. Lesaro had been on a smaller ship and with a fleet of five other warships against one pirate vessel. It was a lesson in navigating rough seas rather than tactical maneuvering against an even foe. He knew the Glorious Orion’s reputation and this battle was long waited for. How often had Escorpión bragged in ports around the Spanish Main that it would be he that could destroy The Silent Mary and El Matador del Mar?

El Matador del Mar. Lesaro did not wish to see Teresa’s face if she had to see Salazar in battle. Harsh and stoic. The face of a man who would destroy anything he thought unholy without waver. She had only encountered a glimpse of that man in the Caribbean. His Capitán had ordered her death because he felt bound by rules. Now he was going to send men, pirates, to their death because he was following the Orders of the King.

This was no way to enter a life or death situation. That is what it was. He was keenly aware this skirmish could escalate with a turn of the wind or a poorly timed shot.

“Promise you will stay here.”

_I’m not promising you anything. _She could only look down at her own shoes, her own clothing that was not appropriate for this time, this battle, this life. Such a small thing, this little lie he previously told but it bit into her fragile psyche. She convinced herself he was trying to protect her from anxiety and she could tolerate, even excuse, many flaws. Lies though she had learned, built upon themselves. Her intuition now set to distance herself from this man, the room began to shrink and the space between filled with his presence looming over hers.

Lesaro made a quick bow but his return to deck was halted by the reflection on the floor. He picked up one of the buttons and rolled it in his palm. He knew where it had fallen from, that the owner could only be his Capitán, and after the lyrics he had heard her sing last night, he knew he should not have listened but Teresa’s voice easily carried across the ship, he had to ask.

“Senorita Teresa, you are alright?” his voice ever the cast of reflective calm.

“Yes?” _Some nerve you have asking me that_.

“Sometimes the Capitán’s requests can be – unreasonable. You are not bound to him as we are. You understand this?” he gave her the button, the small bit of lace attached to the end of his sleeve peeking out under his uniform brushed her fingers as he closed them over her hand.

“I think -” cold metal and the hook on the back of the button dug into her palm. “No. Guillermo, wait. What do you mean?”

Lesaro could do nothing to dissuade the conversation. The cannons began their thundering roll above and below them. Their job of protecting those within her confines sure and solid, yet they could also deafen a sailor with only one shot. Lesaro did not want to think about if Teresa could not hear, if she would no longer be able to sing without hearing.

“Did he tell you he loves you?”

“Yes.”

“And you feel the same?” a touch of sadness rang through his words.

“Very much, but” part of her refusing to register the severity of the looming conflict and her voice reflected that haughty tone of ignorance. “First, you can drop the senorita bit yes? And second - come to think of it the second point is none of your business.”

“I have known Armando a very long time Sen,” it took him a moment to break himself of propriety, “Teresa.” This being the first time he spoke her name so informally, he had to force his body to stand at attention or he may have forgotten she was still technically a rescued hostage, a women who made claims that the Inquisition would break her for, and more complex – a final piece to Armando Salazar’s Will. “There are times in his loneliness” he shook his head, “I have never seen him this way, so I feel it is my duty to watch. To listen. I do not want to see you” he tried to swallow his words but could not, “hurt.”

“Lieutenant Guillermo Lesaro you are overreacting,” she would have used his full name had she known it, as a mother does when needing the full attention of their child. “Do not worry so much! He does love me and I love him. He fills my soul with dreams, and when he reaches for me it’s like the softest cocoon of a warm blanket, and when he speaks my voice wants to sing with the melody!” He watched as the features of her face soften and her eyes boldly proclaiming her heart. “It will all be alright. I promise.”

Lesaro crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. “If he hurts you, I will kick his ass.”

She giggled at the thought of this sweet Lieutenant turning red with anger and taking on Capitán Salazar. Who knows? Maybe Lesaro would actually win? That’s a terrible thought. She would never let anyone else hurt him, not even Lesaro. His overt attempts at sweetness reacted more as digs into the wound he caused rather than comfort and her smile again left her.

“And what if I hurt him?” she whispered more to herself rather than the pensive Lieutenant.

“That is not possible. You have too pure a heart.”

_If he only knew_.

“Now, stay in this room and away from the rear cannons.”

“Are you to be my Guardian Angel?” she asked sarcastically.

Lesaro smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “Yes.”

\--

Capitán Salazar positioned himself prominently at the helm. The world - his world - of waves and wind and decimation of pirates ruled easily from this vantage point. The Silent Mary was to be commanded with the utmost precision and order. She would turn and bow according to her Capitán’s words. Facing the Glorious Orion was a chance to show his strength and the might of the new rebuilt Spanish Armada. To take command of the sea.

The Glorious Orion had full sails and was barreling toward the Mary with threatening speed.

“Officer Moss, you have my permission.”

“Yes Capitán. Open fire!”

All hell was now broken loose and it was Capitán Salazar who unlocked the gates.

Cannons began to volley between the ships and the ferocity of the Mary, now alive at the call of her Capitán, tore the figurehead off the Orion’s bow. But the enemy continued her pace speeding directly as if to slam head on determined to take both ships to the grave.

The Mary for all her guns was not as maneuverable with the cross winds. Amidst battle scars and training, the previous conflict with Escorpión, and watching the vessel easily cut through reefs too dangerous for larger ships, Salazar’s intuition took hold. The Orion’s captain would not have attempted such a dangerous and desperate move unless…

A wave.

The powerful currents below slamming into deep timbers.

Wind commanding what remained of the sails.

A spark.

A flash.

The echo of cannon fire.

A thousand creaks and groans rising from the grand Orion.

Until she was lost.

Utterly, hopelessly, lost.

And her captain knew. And his blood ran cold. He had been defeated before even the challenge accepted.

“You will do as ordered!” attempting to convince his men that the Silent Mary would be their new home.

Officer Moss directed orders to reload and fire until the Orion’s port rigging crashed down to her bow. “Capitán, she’s already sustained damage to the stern. What is chasing her?”

Captain Ganas continued his ship’s path directly toward the Silent Mary.

There was something else on the Glorious Orion, something Lesaro had managed to see through the sails. Smoke. She was sinking, and not entirely by the Mary’s own shot. Salazar ordered the mortal wound, but the Orion had already been damaged before engaging the Mary. She was a sinking ship, on her last voyage, and Escorpión, filled with vanity and pride, was going to ram the Silent Mary like a fire ship, taking her down too.

“She’s coming along side!” Miguel Magda could not fight the panic now rising in his soul. The memory of his last encounter with this ominous ship still too finely etched in his thoughts as he stood with his back against the door behind the wheel.

There was no time to react. The wind favored the English and The Orion was now close enough that Salazar could hear the command as the great enemy pitched and slammed her hull into the Mary.

“We’ve got the Spaniard! Prepare to board!” Her sailors lining the decks to swing across the span of the ships from the main yard-arm in full invasion and grappling hooks splintered the brightly polished and previously unblemished railing of The Silent Mary.

“Virgin santisima! They mean to board us Capitán!” Officer Moss shouted up.

Salazar climbed down to the quarterdeck, lifting his sword with the intensity of repaying the damage to his ship with damage to anything in his way. “No one boards the Silent Mary without my permission.”

“It is too late!” Lesaro unsheathed his sword and shouted the order. “Defend the Mary!”

That pirate crew, proficient in chaos, descended on the Silent Mary’s decks.

And Capitán Salazar, Terror of Pirates, ignited the fire of hatred into a furry he channeled with the power of his sword. The coward was waiting for him, perched on the railing with his hands clenched to the Mary’s rigging.

“You have been running from me for too long Ganas.” Salazar’s imperious voice daring the pirate to cross him.

“Not running Salazar. Taking what is mine,” making a sweeping motion of his sword across the space between them. “Now I’ve got your ship, the better crew, and you - are not paying attention.”

Ganas made the first strike as he leapt down from the rail to challenge Salazar.

Salazar’s face grew dark, his eyes only a sliver of humanity showing to his enemy. “Leave the Silent Mary. Now. This is the only warning I will give you.”

“What’s the trouble Matador? Afraid when I kill you Hell will open and take you down? I expect order and find your ship in chaos. You _do_ want Hell!”

There was an edge of truth in Ganas’ words. Salazar did want the powers of Hell at his fingertips, vainly believing he could order even the demons as King Solomon had. Not with a ring but a sword, the one he commissioned, the one he traded every maravedi for, the one he had his grandfather and father’s metals melted down only to be resurrected as the scrollwork in the guard of the hilt.

It was foolish for Ganas to have been so bold. He had already fought his own men who had threatened rebellion a day before spotting Salazar, loaded and watched as the Orion’s guns misfired again and again, killing several gunners rather than sinking the King’s ships, and now had swam heavy waters to flee his fiery sinking ship. It was only a moment before Salazar took advantage of this weakness and raised his steel in swift heavy motion, breaking his enemy’s sword in half.

Captain Ganas threw his broken sword to the ground, reaching to his side for the only dagger he knew would be sharp enough to thrust into Salazar’s heart. “You are a dead man, Salazar.”

\--

Lieutenant Lesaro had been less than forthcoming when describing war. Every plank below her vibrated, smoke from the cannons seeped in under the door along with the smell of acidic gunpowder. She could no longer distinguish between the swords and the creak of trucks carrying cannons and the thundering roll. The one thing she could be sure of was that the opposing ship had come close enough for the enemy to board.

_Don’t worry, he said he would protect you. _Another thundering shot._ You’re on a Spanish galleon in the middle of the ocean with hundreds of men trying to blow everything up._ “Screw that!”

Teresa managed to gather a few items into her luggage and her rosary in her hand before the sound of the cannons became worse than an earthquake in the room. She wanted to sing, wanted to do anything that would distract her from the tumult. She could not hear her own voice, not even the attempts at rational thought in her own head. The final shot came from over her right shoulder, forcing the air out of the room and throwing her to the floor. Cowering near the door Teresa covered her ears and looked up at the statue on the retablo, quaking as if being shaken by the hand of God.

Teresa did not hear when the lock on the door broke. She did not hear the door open but she saw the light rays filled with grey torrents of smoke. _Stay. Stay where you are_, she could hear Armando’s command in her mind. Then, a strange voice, with an accent of her past, a language that was beginning to diminish from her vocabulary still only recognizable in its basic meter. The man, without formal uniform, dirty, covered in blood and without a hat crouched and entered, and turned when he saw the fluttering movements of her body.

“Well this is a rare fortune!” taking in her appearance. “What’s a princess like you doin’ on a Spanish ship? Did The Butcher come for you too?” His hand took hold of her arm pulling her away from hidden darkness and into the threshold of the quarters, door open.

“Get away from me!” she shouted and kicked and still, though the cannons had ceased replaced by the commotion of men’s voices and cutlasses slicing through both flesh and wood, no one heard the attack.

“Don’t worry Lass, we’ve got the Silent Mary now and we’ll be takin’ ye home.” It would be the last words the English sailor spoke. Teresa’s eyes moved slowly in time as his head leaned to the side and his neck blew apart, shattering to the air around her. Without thought, her eyes instinctively shut as pieces of his flesh reached her face. She winced as warm blood mixed with the dust of gunpowder landed on her cheeks, her hair, falling pieces of human bone fragmented and sticking to her lips and hands. The man’s body now absent of soul, crashed forward on her before she could raise her arms in defense or even take a breath to scream. As the world closed the book, it breathed down on her and she finally heard the echo of the weapon that delivered the fatal shot.

Bracero, still worn and healing, threw the musket down before the smoke had cleared the barrel. He felt the jolt of release and another cold pain deep in his shoulder. The thrust from the musket’s kick was clean, direct, powerful. It rendered his arm the loss of all movement and the wounds on his back reopened, warm blood seeping into his uniform.

On the horizon another ship and from above another warning. “Capitán! It is Anunciación!”

Officer Moss threw his opponent one last deflection, leaving the pirate to collapse mortally wounded against the fore mast and Moss raced across the ship to the helm to steal the telescope from Magda. There was the reason Captain Ganas quickly found himself doomed! The Anunciación was the second grand ship to be built at the new yard in Cadiz and the one vessel Antonio Moss had prayed to be assigned to. Instead his younger brother gained favor. She was beautifully gilded and painted in the finest jeweled colors, less of a warship and more akin a floating mystical castle. Graceful and dressed in majestic carvings bolding proclaiming her heritage as a design of Spanish dominance reminiscent of the glory before the English incident. She cut through the waves with blue and yellow silk flags trailing from her rigging and her red Cross of Santiago emblazoned above a larger blue X, the symbol of San Andres. Moss knew her assignment was to patrol the coast of Spain, rarely making it this far out to sea only daring to venture this far if the captain knew he would be triumphant.

The quickest change in the wind allowed Lesaro to guide the ship out of the way of the fire engulfed Orion and the Anunciación placed herself parallel, trapping the Orion between the two great Spanish galleons. There was to be nothing left of the pirate crew or ship.

Ganas looked back in blind fury unable to see the situation as imminent defeat, unable to see past his hatred of Salazar. The only thing that mattered now was the idea that history would hold his memory as the greatest of Pirates, the man to who killed El Matador del Mar. But he would not get that chance.

Salazar’s steady hands raised his sword once more and taking a forward stride thrust his blade completely through the man’s chest. Ganas groaned from the pain and stared back at Salazar. If he could not be in history’s memory, he would imprint himself on Salazar’s memory, forcing the Capitán to add another face to the many he killed.

Ganas held his bleeding side with one hand and climbed back over the railing, hearing the high pitched voices of the only two of his men remaining, urging him to jump into the row boat in a futile attempt to escape.

Santos lifted his rifle and pointed it at Escorpión.

“No. He is already dead,” Salazar placed his hand on the rifle to bring it down.

“Capitán!” Lieutenant Lesaro drew Salazar’s attention immediately. “There is another ship!” And before he could return to the helm, he did not notice the dying pirate taking a pistol from a corpse next to him on the rowboat. Ganas spent his final moment in agony firing a last shot directly at Salazar.

The air rushed from Salazar’s lungs as he felt the thrust of the ball over his chest.

Santos expected to see him collapse, expected to see his Capitán die.

Yet.

Salazar placed his hand over the hole in his uniform, his brow furrowed at the myriad of thoughts rushing to his mind: of Judgement, of all he had not yet accomplished, of wasted time, of the lust of revenge.

There was no blood. No pain of injury or trace of wound. For under his uniform, where he kept hidden underneath the cross of Padre Lombroso, the ball had lodged itself in the gift given him so long ago.

He should have given thanks. He should have fallen to his knees and given praise to the saintly priest for interceding.

Capitán Salazar did not.

Instead he let the rush of adrenaline pour to his desire for order and control, his stride pushing past the bodies littering his battered ship until he reached the deck in front of his quarters. And he looked down.

Blood.

A pool of it. From underneath the door. And Bracero, wounded and propping himself against the wall grasping his shoulder, unable to look his Capitan in the eye.

Salazar threw the door open in a furry and tore from the hinges. He did not know what he expected to see, only that the demons had flashed images to his mind of _her_ blood, _her_ body desecrated, or torn to pieces at the hands of a pirate and the guilt of not having been there to save her. It was stifling, that last thought. He had to save his ship and his crew. Torn between his ship and her. This should not have happened! Lesaro was supposed to guard her. That unfailing, trusted Lieutenant was to secure her and Salazar now imagined punishment so grand…

Teresa opened her eyes when the door crashed down. She was clenching a candlestick from the retablo, not knowing exactly what she would do if another pirate entered but knowing she would defend herself. There was no other option.

But it was her Capitán at the door. _Her_ Capitán.

She dropped the weapon and looked at her hands, covered in blood and the moments began to fall in order in her mind. The pirate, the shot, the fall. And his blood.

Everywhere.

Dead.

Death.

Armando.

“I do not…he came in and I panicked and –“ her eyes fell to the floor expecting to see the body. She suddenly could not breath. She heard words from the doorway.

It was Bracero, stumbling toward Officer Magda, trying to say something.

Teresa ran out the door when she realized what happened.

“I am sorry Senorita Romero, that I did not save you from – the pirate. I should have. I should have done that. My duty to…” Bracero collapsed into Magda’s arms, the open wounds on his back having soaked his uniform in blood.

She was confused. “Bracero, you did. You did save me.” Before she could tell him that his blind shot had hit the target, he fell unconscious.

“Magda, get him below. Immediately,” Salazar was not going to allow another Spaniard to die today.

Teresa had to look up again, to see Salazar’s face. That of a warrior, a man with lives at his disposal to kill or to save, a face of a man fighting within himself between honor and revenge. She knew what she was staring at and it frightened her. Why the pirates called him Butcher, why the seas quaked at his command.

She began to sink again, as she had the first day, into anxiety, the rush of needing to escape, to be alone and free of the invisible chains that Death had painted her face and clothing with. Teresa began to feel cold, even as Salazar leaned in to hold her. He could think of nothing else than to call on Herrera, again.

The Padre had spent the battle in prayer but at Lesaro’s bidding closed his books and ran to Teresa. “Capitan, there is nothing I can do.”

“Assure her, _Padre_,” Salazar clenched his teeth and spat at Herrera. “This is not her fault!”

The viciousness in his tone, Herrera did not wish to think such things of his friend. He turned to Teresa and blessed her with the words of absolution.

“Daughter be calm. The stain is removed. All is forgiven. Hell does not await you.”

** _Hell does not await you._ **

Those were the only words to break into her mind. Teresa’s pale features came to life by the only words she had heard the Padre speak.

“Capitan,” Lesaro dared whisper to his Capitan. Salazar did not look up. “There is a signal from Anunciación.” He hesitated. “And another ship."

Salazar could not ignore the information. “Herrera, you will stay with Teresa. Should anything happen to her, it will be your life you will be begging for.

The telescope provided no information. Santos at least could understand the Anunciación’s message. The ship following was formidable in her own way, made more so by the passengers she carried. A delegation from the Court of Peter, Czar of All the Russias.

Lesaro almost laughed. “Russia?”

“Yes. The ship is called the Providence of God. Anunciación has orders to escort her passengers, diplomats to Cadiz.”

“Diplomats. Politicians you mean.”

“Lieutenant Fernandez was not clear. Only that he requests to board.”

Salazar interjected. “Lieutenant? Where is Capitan Martinez?”

“Dead.”

“Request denied. We will receive them tomorrow,” Salazar spat back and took in a breath. The scene around him the remnants of violence. The price of victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lesson in humility. Any words of encouragement? I need a hug. 
> 
> This was the most difficult chapter to date. Not because I didn’t know what would happen, but because I put too much pressure on myself. I almost had a complete collapse to the point of throwing the entire fic out and abandoning it. But now I know the Dear Ones are happy, even though this could have been written better or with more action, I am at peace about it.  
Ships: La Anunciación – Spanish / Glorious Orion – English, pirates not privateers / Capitan Leander Ganas / Goto Predestinatsia – Russian, Гото Предестинация.


	19. Salus in Arduis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone on the Silent Mary must come to terms with life post battle. Healing, questions, revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safety in Adversity.

For the weakened Padre Herrera the spiritual health of this injured crew was more important than obeying Capitán Salazar’s orders to watch a single passenger even at the threat of his own life. There was a need to exorcise the ship of her demons and bring Heavenly order back to the decks and the souls of the men.

Especially to her Capitán.

His chant floated and climbed the rigging, weaving between the sails on invisible wings and swords of fire, purifying and washing the _Silent Mary_ in the ancient language.

Teresa was left standing alone on deck, her vision opening to grey mist, course and heavy metallic dust beginning the descent to the sea, and sound waves of shouting pain now exchanged for a low hum of voices in rhythm to the ship.

And Death. Death clung to her clothes and face. There was only one way to remove it, but it required her to retreat into her room and past the bloody scene.

Alone.

She turned and examined the vestiges of Salazar’s anger. He had damaged his own ship to get to her. The wood around the door splintered and jagged; a single long streak of blood where the hinges used to be clung to the paint.

She wiped her lips along her arm, the dried blood flaking off her skin and embedding into the sweater.

The sweater.

It had to be removed. That urge to tear it from her body strong enough that she almost did right on deck. Teresa hesitated though, pulling it down over her waist tightly before running past the doorway and retablo and flying into her room, slamming door and throwing the chair in front of the small door in an attempt to give her mind a shield from the memories. She could not know the _Silent Mary_ was already doing her part in that cause.

The hued luggage that was her security - the symbol of her former life - lay broken and blown apart from the blast of air in the battle and contents scattered to all parts of the room. Her bed was now partially held up by two unbroken legs. There was not much to salvage. Still, the sweater had to go, replaced by the only article of clothing not destroyed in some way. The dress from the first dinner was the only thing she had left.

Silver light glinted off the half-cracked mirror and she looked over her shoulder at the face staring back at her. A shadowed face appeared in a state she had never seen herself in. As she moved closer and blinked several times at the reflection, the sound of wood creaking behind her made her jump.

_There are no ghosts here! There are no ghosts here!_

Teresa grabbed her brush and frantically pulled in every direction to clear her hair from her face and smooth it back into a braid. The reflection began to look more familiar but her brush was covered in long strands of hair, almost in clumps. She sighed and knew. Malnutrition and stress and her condition finally caught up. A modern woman, independent, confident, able to go where she wanted when she wanted, taught the value of treating everyone with dignity – that woman was reflected in one half of the mirror. The other half contained a woman who had been broken down and thrown in every direction. Every sharp emotion having coursed through her heart and mind and she could not sort out what belonged where. There was no dignity here. How people were treated, how those pirates were treated, what her Capitán himself ordered for their fate!

She could not think about it. She had to survive. She had to gather strength and find any meaningful purpose to life she had left. They were almost to Spain.

Kindness.

She had to be kind. She had to take care of Bracero.

The small amount of water in the basin sloshed around with the ship and now completely soaked up by the cloth in her hands she began scrubbing her face until her cheeks were red, her lips cleaned of blood and dust. Those lips were cracked and dry and the bottom one started bleeding. It should have felt painful but she did not feel anything in her face and hands. It was her breathing, gasps really, that made her look up again in the mirror. This time she knew there was something dark behind her and quickly turned around.

The sweater. Dark spots on dark teal, the softness now covered in various shapes of deep black. Climbing on the broken bed to reach the brass latch on her window, Teresa found it jammed solidly shut and resisting all her efforts to force it open.

That sweater should have been an inanimate object. It should not have grown in her imagination as it now was, twisting and writhing and expanding across the bed making gestures that signaled life in an object covered in death.

Teresa grabbed it into the tightest ball and threw the chair at the door to the side. The sweater had now become as sparks of fire throwing needles of sharp pain to the palms of her hands. She ran out his door not caring if anyone noticed a modern-dressed woman appearing in the twilight and up the stairs to the stern, and when she could go no further, almost falling off the side, she flung the sweater to the ocean with all her might.

Finally her heart could resume a natural rhythm, finally her lungs could take in a breath of the clean sea air, finally she could stand steady on the deck.

The rigging snapped and pulled against the sky, the moon light, the glow of white reflecting to the clouds in the East. It was one of those celestial days that night wished to join, so the sun and the moon sat opposite each other both hovering over their perspective horizons, the one setting and the other rising as if the moon wished to race after the fleeing sun and the moon’s way of trying to catch the fiery orb was to shoot out sparks of stars in a vain attempt to touch the reds and golds of receding daylight.

Free of the blood stain her eyes scanned the ship as far as she could see. Teresa’s mind flashed to all the crew’s faces she could put names to and only Officer Moss’ appearance at the helm with a young man holding a map, both looking quiet out of place yet giving her a sense of solidity.

The wind picked up into a biting chill that ran across the sky down to her. Perhaps she would have to spend the night freezing on deck huddled under the mast. No, her physical health would not permit that and thankfully it was Moss that would explain where to find the Capitán.

Teresa knocked on the door to the navigation room.

Officer Santos greeted her, and in a perfect role reversal of the morning, would not let her in.

“Please, I’m freezing. I wanted to ask Lesaro if I could borrow his cloak.”

Santos took pity, she there with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. “One moment.” He shut the door and she heard it lock.

Teresa lean closer to the door to hear the voices of the men and above them all, Salazar.

The man had seen her standing outside the door, catching a glimpse of her dress and recognizing it. Reminiscing about it. Finding his mind torn away from post battle examination long enough to find his chest heavy and warmth rushing across his lips in memory of their last meeting.

Lesaro got up to get his cloak.

“No,” Salazar told Santos. “She will have mine.”

When the door opened, she tried to attract Salazar’s attention, but Santos stood in the way giving her the cloak and quickly shut the door.

Teresa wrapped it over her shoulders in haste. She was stopped by the heavier weight, the silk lining and a detail sewn into the inside collar. And she understood. If he could not wrap his arms around her, he gave her his this instead, a solid presence, his scent brushing against her face and she leaned her head into the collar and gently kissed it.

With Ganas now defeated and the Armada heading home lead by a ship that should not have been so far in these waters, Capitán Salazar needed to regain control. Where had the _Anunciación_ encountered the pirates and the troubling losses of this battle were stark. He had lost men. Men he vowed to protect. He retreated to his darkness, letting the men in front of him argue it out as he sat in his thoughts.

Magda rose up pounding his fist on the table in front of Lesaro. “You should have listened to me.”

“If I had ordered the ship into those waves it would have brought us too close to the island.”

Santos tried to intervene but even he knew if Magda was mad enough to raise his voice, he could not negotiate peace.

“How much longer have I been on the _Mary_? Hm? Guided her through more conflict than you have seen. She obeys my – “

“Enough!” Salazar growled. “You may continue to fight over who she loves best on your own time.”  
Magda was right, at least in his own mind but proving it to Salazar would have to wait.

Studying the map and listening to Lesaro’s instructions, Salazar attempted to focus on what preemptive move saw, how quickly they had lost control of the battle and how they left themselves vulnerable to the _Orion_. Salazar’s mind rolled through question after question, doubts and second guesses that he had not confronted before. Did he do the right thing allowing the one man on the row boat to escape? Was there anything else he could do in such adversity? He had to make them pay. He had to wipe them out. Yet still an unsettling feeling burrowed into his chest. If he could have taken any prisoners back with them, even kept them in the hold of _Anunciación_ perhaps they would now more about where these pirates were anchored and why they would dare to be so close. Were they planning another invasion? He had to be content thinking of Spain. Spain was the clear victor, even if Capitán Salazar had to share that victory with another ship.

Santos made another note and remarked about the time and Salazar dismissed his men. All except Lesaro. He needed his Lieutenant to stay.

Teresa returned to deck to watch the last moments of sunset. The thought of returning to her room, what was left inside of it, no, she could not. The air outside was too clean like a cold morning in Monterey, dotted with not yet formed ice crystals creating fog that rolled inland in late Spring. She allowed it to fill her lungs with piercing cold and meeting with the warmth of her chest it melted back as drops that somehow separated and became the sweetest oxygen that cleansed her very body.

Most of the men were below recovering or trying to sleep. A handful remained to keep the _Mary_ on course. It was quiet company but company she needed. They performed their duty slowly, achingly, purposefully. She watched for several minutes specific men, each one beginning and completing their tasks without agitation and the habitual and smooth running of a proud ship in contrast to only hours before.

She wasn’t ready to be locked up again in the shell of a room containing memories upon memories, each from the pointed ends of the spectrum; terror released in screams and clenching of every muscle, to the deepened moans that turned passionate desires flowing in every vein. There was not one place on the _Silent Mary_ that belonged to her. She walked to the foremast and looked behind her. They were now truly sailing away from the sun and the West and California, away from everything. She jumped when one of the deckhands yelled out, but it was only a direction of the sails, not another ship. Each time she glanced at the horizon she thought she could see a black silhouette in the distance, beyond the two ships flanking them. She convinced herself they were allies, Moss had at least said that to her. 

And as for Armando Salazar. He had left her alone when she needed him most. Shut her out maybe not intentionally but emotionally, her heart knew it. Every time she opened her heart, it was ignored or betrayed. She could feel the bitterness drive daggers to her heart. Stabbing and wounding and persisting with cold steel buried in that life giving muscle. Only he could place those daggers and only he could remove them so effortlessly with a look or a smile or a caress.

_Nothing changes over time? _

Her heart did stop, frozen in the realization of how easily she had given it, willingly and fully, to a man whose actions proved worse than anything she had encountered. A butcher. A murderer. A violent man wrapped in the cover of orders and his own version of morality. She had let him have that control. She tried convincing herself that the Capitán must attain the purpose of his mission, but why could he have not even spared a single minute for her?

It was too much to ponder as tired as she was, so Teresa continued to watch one boy, someone she could not name but knew his face, young, not more than thirteen. His grey cap fit tightly to his head and she imagined it had been knitted by his mother. He was mopping up blood on parts of the deck, even though it would be soon dark and hard to distinguish the deep red from the wooden deck. But Salazar’s orders were for the ship to be whole again before sunrise and each man focused on their task diligently.

There were distant gulls shrieking and bells rang out from all three ships. As she looked down at the figurehead she imagined the _Mary_ speaking to them, never silent to her peers, telling them she was leading the way, telling them her Capitán kept the seas safe and the danger, well, the _Mary_ only spoke lovingly of her crew.

Teresa too needed to speak. Her own language becoming a blend of two worlds and one part of her, where songs remained but refused to stay hidden, pressed across her lips.

There are places I remember  
All my life though some have changed  
Some forever not for better  
Some have gone and some remain  
All these places have their moments  
With lovers and friends I still can recall  
Some are dead and some are living  
In my life I've loved them all

Lesaro raised his eye to the ceiling, to the tender fading voice singing above them. “You should go.”

“What are our orders regarding _Anunciación_ and this foreign vessel? These Russians.” Salazar kept his head down and continued to write furiously, marking various pages with notes and initials. “I must repair my ship before we allow any delegation aboard. I must see to my injured crew.”

Lesaro leaned down and rested his hands firmly on Salazar’s desk. “She is injured too Capitán.”

Salazar briefly stopped his work but still refused to look up. “Not now. I left her in Herrera’s charge. He will deal with whatever spiritual event ails her.”

Lesaro shook his head. “You say you love her and yet you do not understand her, do you? If you would only pay attention.”

Salazar slammed his fist on the desk making Lesaro jump back. “Pay attention? I have every detail in perfect order on the _Silent Mary_. I know every kevel every shroud, every pair of boots assigned to each of my men. I am focusing now on not losing the rest of my crew. What would you have me do Guillermo?” His eyes finally raised but his head did not and a dark look thrown across the desk at his Lieutenant with indignation burned through.

Lesaro had known that look. When they first met. A disheveled heap of a man, his coat missing buttons, his boots covered in mud, head down and those eyes looking forward, pushing through a crowded stone corridor and Lesaro was watching him back when he had use of both his eyes. Salazar had indeed committed some wrong-doing and Lesaro as a noble felt it his duty to intercept. He stood his ground as Salazar ran squarely into him. How often had they each thought of that day, that preordained meeting, and how quickly it wove their lives together.

“Do not leave her to fight the demons alone. Not to leave her suffering as your mother did.” Lesaro knew he should not have said it. To speak of family even after all they had been through together, Lesaro was purposely forcing Salazar to action.

It worked. The Capitán’s seething temper was forced to the surface when he had only minutes before gathered his control. “You are stepping too far Lieutenant.”

“Then challenge me.”

Salazar got up and threw the chair back to the floor, making Lesaro produce his sword.

“You would kill me? How would that avenge your family? Kill your friend same as you killed your father?”

Salazar bit back his tongue and focused on the man standing before him. His friend. A man who defended virtue with life and limb – with his sight – the memory of that loss enough to break his rage. “I had no choice! No choice.”

“Si. You have a choice _now_ Armando. Make the right one.”

He almost collapsed back on the desk. “I heard her. After this,” pointing to the papers, “I will find her.”

Lesaro could do no more and sheathed his sword. “Yes Capitán.”

By the time Lesaro reached the deck Teresa had left and none of the men he questioned noticed which way she went. True he knew the ship well, but when a person wanted to hide, it would take time to find them.

The stairs creaked as Teresa walked further down into the heart of the Silent Mary. Down into the darkness among the movement of the sailors and to the bay where Bracero was recovering within constricting walls that held air thick and suffocating. Through candlelight and the moans of pain, the various implements of a surgeon lay on the table, some covered in blood and some, she could not bring herself to look closer. A cold sight in a cold room that hung between the sea and the air, a place where the horizon would cut the ship in half just below the floor if the waves could cut into the _Silent Mary’s_ hull. The injured men lay in various positions on chairs and hammocks with hands hanging over the edge and legs bent in odd directions. It was real: the damage, the cost of war.

“Bracero?” she asked the guard standing at the bottom of the stairs. He pointed to a hammock where Bracero lay quietly on his stomach, and quite uncomfortable.

“Senorita this is no place for you!” The unusually tall man flashed a small surgical knife from his hand in her direction.

“I am here to help.”

He shook his head. “Unless you can miraculous put together limbs or ease men into the eternity, I suggest you go back to your cabin.”

She squinted and determinedly said under her breath “I can help one of them,” and slipped past the surgeon.

Bracero attempted to lean over when she came to his side.

“Shh. Don’t move. It seems,” she continued while trying to balance herself on a three-legged stool next to his hammock, “I am here again to help. This time, don’t be a jerk mkay?”

Officer Magda appeared from behind a shadow where he had been making a tally of losses and injuries. “You are a lucky man Bracero. Dislocated shoulder is one thing. Reopening wounds another.”

“How bad?”

“It was easier to fix since you passed out. There is a lot of blood loss. You won’t be going anywhere until we make port. Even then,” Magda shook his head. “You are brave and foolish. But, Capitán said we have to keep you!”

Bracero only groaned and tried to turn over.

Teresa placed the white plastic box she had carried with her on the table and with two quick releases of the latches it opened. The men looked at each other.

She smiled. “Don’t be afraid. I took a first aid class like 5 years ago. Do not, I repeat, do not get up. Sleep. I also have something for that,” pointing to his back.

The surgeon quickly protested. “I think I can do my job Senorita Romero. Laudanum is quite affective.”

Teresa starred back at him. “You gave him fucking cocaine‽”

Every one of the men heard her and she was sure at least one audible gasp came from behind her.

“I gave him the small amount of laudanum I could spare.”

“Oh for the love. When the drug trip wears off, I’ll give you something else. Something you _won’t_ be addicted to.” She leaned in closer to Bracero. “Can you believe this _hombre_?” Her question made him smile and laugh.

“How deep are the wounds? Do you mind if I look?”

Bracero shrunk back and with wide eyes looked at Magda.

“I doubt Senor Velez will have any say in the matter,” Magda said.

“He’s not looking, I want to make sure you’re alright. You are _my_ patient now. And don’t worry. I have – had? - a brother. I’ve seen boys before. Now, assuming I can remember,” and she raised his shirt slightly.

“Ouch!”

Teresa winced but was determined to continue. “Sorry. The bandages, oh, hm, let’s. I think maybe I will leave that one for now,” as she placed his shirt back down and began looking through her box for bandages. “Sorry, band-aids won’t cover this one! Guess I have no choice.”

Attempting to hold conversation with Bracero proved difficult until he discovered the pain was diminishing and he grabbed for her hand and forced a drowsy thank you before his eyes closed.

“You are welcome. I guess,” she yawned, “we both need sleep. Just like a little brother. Big heart and all trouble!” It was that thought that made her hum a simple tune and smile. Teresa began sorting through some of the items to clean up as her hand brushed a thin white object she did not recognize.

Realizing Bracero had fallen asleep, Teresa lay her head on her arm and her hand over the kit. It was an old habit, to place her hand on something when sleeping in a crowded place to ensure no one would steal it. She doubted anyone on the _Silent Mary_ would be that bold, but she also had not anticipated the rat incident that lead to the man next to her being in the state of agony he now was in.

Capitán Salazar kept his word. The books were complete and he inquired with Moss the whereabouts of Teresa. Not on deck but he had seen her go down the second stairs. Lesaro kept his formality, mentioning the only place he had not yet checked was with the surgeon, Velez.

The two men walked down the stairs knowing what damages war had done to the men. It was never in Salazar’s mind that his pursuit of destroying evil should bring evil consequences. If he had not been comforted by the idea that suffering held for the soul an amount of redemption, he might have questioned the entire action. Still, it was the cry of the men’s voices, the waste of efficient men to run the ship, that made him pause. Salazar promised, on those stairs that he would never again allow anyone – friend or foe - near the _Silent Mary_. The toll, it was too great. He would never again misjudge the wind or the current.

Velez was still working on the last stitches of a man who had his forearm torn open.

Salazar breathed a heavy sigh and scanned the room when he saw Teresa. She had fallen asleep in a most awkward position, sitting and yet having to prop herself up with one leg, and her arms sprawled out on the table with her head resting in her elbow.

“Teresa. Come,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” her eyes slightly opened to a bleary and darker room now that there was no sunlight and only candles. “No,” she replied. “Must stay with him. Make sure,” she yawned, “make sure he is alright.”

Salazar leaned again to her ear. “Come with me,” but was taken back by her reply.

“No, no. Leave me here. Make sure he doesn’t have allergic reaction. Need to. Take care…of him,” the only words she could manage before her head fell down on her arms and she fell back asleep.

Bracero indeed was sleeping very deeply, neatly tucked within the hammock and blanket that Teresa had placed on him.

It was Armando Salazar that needed her more. Needed her voice. Needed to possess it, the tone which crossed her lips and buried itself to his soul.

He picked up her slumbering body and carried her to the deck. When he opened the door to the night the jarring cold abruptly woke her and she found herself between the beating wind and the solid warmth of his body. He stopped when they reached the threshold of his quarters.

“Do you have another song for me?”

Teresa nodded. “Tomorrow. Tired,” she replied and was about to fall back asleep until she realized where they were and her body thrashed out of his grip.

“No,” she simply said closing her eyes. She found herself unable to move forward, a prisoner between the threshold and his body. Collapsing on her knees he clasped her wrists forcing her to stand back on her feet.

“Don’t make me go back in there. I beg you.”

“You will.”

Her mind rushed through all the dust and flashes and heat of the day. “How can you simply let them die?”

Salazar ignored her, intent on keeping her quiet and using any means to get her quickly past the door without great commotion. “There is nowhere to go. On your feet.” The threat direct, his breath cold in her ear. “Do not make me hurt you.”

Salazar lifted her up again folding her close as he pushed through the newly repaired doorway.

And she remained quiet.

Even as he sat down on the bed with her in his lap, she remained quiet.

Her silence. It was the heavy uneasy silence that languishes in deep chasms until the pressure cracks against the glass walls and collapses and suffocates the soul.

Yet it was she that opened her eyes first, breaking the silence, slighting letting him go to move her arms down his epaulets, to trace the seams of his sleeves. Such heavy and coarse fabric, stiff and unmailable, the visible reality of station manifest in that contrasting black and white never to be tainted by doubt or fear. It was strength and courage and pride all sewn together that dressed this man. And he was neither saint or devil, but human – warm and solid and true. A soul desirous of perfection but trapped within an unknown earthly journey that took as many turns as the sea in storms.

There settled her heart, difficult as it was to think about what he had done, there settled her soul in his safety for she knew he would never unleash his rage against her.

He noticed. The way she took her time through distant tired eyes to make sense of the day. It was enough of a weighted look that it prompted him to stand, remove his uniform and return to her side stripped of military regalia, to present himself in plain clothes and a quiet offer of peace. He brought her back into the warmth of his arms and she settled herself on his chest first concentrating on the rise and fall of his breathing and then the stronger beat of his heart.

And she began to sing. Whispered and close and only for him.

“You must be strong. I need you to be strong, hm?”

He hoped to physically take any burden from her by holding closer, kissing the palms of her hands where blood had stained them trying to remove the memory for her. It was now a memory for him and burden she should not carry, a penance she should have to have endure. He would suffer in her place and God may send what punishment He deemed, Salazar begged to intervene and accept it upon himself.

She sat up and forced herself to brave the question that was the cause of their separation.

“The pirate. He called you The Butcher. Tell me – exactly - what he meant by that. I have to know the truth.”

“Yes,” he did not hesitate in his answer. “This is what my enemies call me. El Matador del Mar. They are jealous. They hate me. When you are successful jealousy gathers many enemies. Have you seen my actions reflect this while you have been aboard? When have I been cruel?”

“I did not see you spare anyone.”

“Who would I extend mercy to? The man who tried to kill me? That pirate is the reason I will rid the seas of his kind. Cruel, thieves, no honor to speak of. They murder and laugh while dancing around the bodies of those they torture. They deserve to be punished.”

Teresa only closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m exhausted. I want to be off this ship.”

“You wish to run away from me? Again?” slight laugh escaping.

“Why not? This is a nightmare. Everything about it is cracked and broken and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Well, let me tell you who you are.”  
“I’m too tired to talk about it.” waving her hand in dismissal. She tucked her knees up under her arms and shook her head. “Oh it sounds so stupid! I am afraid you will walk away. I - my friends, gone. I cannot remember,” she removed the item she carried from the white box out of her pocket to show him, “what this is.”

Her memories were siphoning out, becoming entrapped in the dust kicked up by each crash of the hull on the sea, particles of memories taking flight, imbedding themselves in the cracks of the lumber around her.

“There are flashes of words, people – things. They cry out to me and I feel I should know them. Maybe someday I will forget this battle but mostly I am afraid, someday I will forget even you.”

“Then we have something in common.”

His hand raised to her chin, he would have her look to his eyes even if she did not want to.

“Do you think I wish to remember any battle? I do not want to remember that man’s face or his name or any pirate!” Desperately grasping her hands together in his. “I destroy them from the sea but they are still alive! Help me forget. I will replace the memory with _your _face,” pressing his lips to her but refusing to give her his kiss. “_Your_ name.” His languorous voice drifting all his words to a sultry river. “You wish to know who you are? You will be Teresa Salazar. Mine.”

“The what now?” as her breath stopped.

“I need you to understand.” He was again holding her, a desperate hold as if she at any moment would be released from his arms by the pull of the tide.

“I can feel the shadow of darkness approaching. Ebbs and flows. And neither myself nor the sea wants it so it crashes against my skin so often until I cannot hold it back. There is no way to stop it. No harbor I could build myself, but you – you became my harbor. I do not know how or why I only know that I cannot leave the mooring. I am tied to you in this battle for my soul.” 

Teresa ran her fingers over the hole in shirt. It was a tear she had not noticed and one he was poorly trying to hide from her. Then she realized what had made the mark. “Armando!”

He took the crucifix off and placed it in her hands.

“You could have died!”

He smiled. “Herrera assured I would not.”

“Herrera? You –“

He unsheathed his sword, sat back on the bed and coaxed her to lay in his arms.

“Shh. It is over. Rest my love,” bringing the sword to rest across her lap.

Peace transfixed as a sentinel in the room and they slept as one breath, the sword guarding them, holding down any demons Hell wished to throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will at most be once a month, until we get closer to the end and then weekly- thanks for your patience) Hopefully you will notice a change in Salazar’s character in the upcoming chapters. More forceful, becoming ever closer to the Salazar we see at the Battle of the Triangle. (okay so I didn’t do the greatest job in the previous chapter conveying this HOWEVER), the battle with Captain Ganas is what pushes him deeper into anger and revenge. He views it as a defeat because of the loss of men and the damage to the Silent Mary. The unhinged door symbolic of his unhinging anger, the opening up of his soul to temptation and evil.  
There is a lot to unpack in this chapter. Let me know if you enjoyed it.  
We're not done with the pirates just yet...


	20. Immersed

Steam delighted to rise from the copper tub in the middle of Salazar’s quarters. The heavy black curtains were closed tightly giving the room the appearance of midnight rather than midday. Incandescing light danced off the rim of the tub with golden flames from the candles on the table and along the wall.

“I have never known someone to want to take a bath as much as you,” Armando remarked.

“You should try it some time, you might like it!” Her rather flippant response produced his baritone countering.

“Perhaps I will.”

_Oh why did he have to say it like that! _

“Yes, well,” she cleared her throat and tried to keep her face from twisting in any direction and giving away the rush of sweat poison his words flooded her body with.

“And the lock!” she reminded him.

“Lock and guard, _Teresita_,” he said and smiled before leaving.

Rather pleased with herself having procured something close to a comfort from home at her slightest request, Teresa retrieved the little bottles of soap from her room and tried to agitate the water enough to form a small amount of bubbles before undressing.

Already having doubts about the safety of the dinnerware she was not sure how often she truly should be soaking herself in a hot copper tub. _Hmm, wonder if I’m going to make it out of this without some sort of metal poisoning_.

Neatly folding and laying her clothes on his settee, she refused to walk any distance in the room without a blanket around her. Standing pensive next to the tub she looked over the water, staring at the steam knowing the bath was getting colder with each passing second, then the door and back to the water.

_For his sake he better have locked that door! Just get in the water already! You’re being ridiculous._

She dropped the blanket to the floor and quickly climbed in.

Once completely immersed she allowed the few bubbles to float around and watched them glow with small rainbows in the candlelight. It was easy in the darkness to lose her thoughts and only feel the sensual motion of the heated water running slowing up and down from her feet to her chest. Easy to lose her worries, easy to lay back and imagine being alone at the spa in Santa Clara.

Until she heard the men’s voices and shot upright ready to jump out. Shouting and laughing and phrases of ‘freezing’ and ‘not in this direction’ put her mind at ease that they were not preparing for another battle. The accompanying sound of water splashing across the decks was curious. It was not the same pattern as the waves of the ocean and the ship was hardly rolling.

_So much for a spa_.

Several sighs later she resigned that she could not stay in the water and bent over to awkwardly grab the blanket and swept it around her. Wet feet left distinct marks on the floor as she walked across the room to retrieve her clothes.

_Click_.

She froze, there in the middle of the room with the blanket half around her and hair dripping on the carpet.

The door opened letting in a sliver of light across the floor and the shadow of the man who dared enter. He was holding something very large.

He shut the door behind him with another click. “I did not think you should like to stay in the water so long.”

“Armando! What are, excuse you! Maybe knock or something?” pulling the blanket up to her chest tighter.

“Maybe I have come for that bath you suggested.”

_Oh he cannot be serious._

He moved closer ignoring the marks on the wood floor and laid the object on the settee before standing next to her.

“Is the water still warm?” he asked and brushed the back of his hand on her cheek. “You are.” 

Turning around he motioned to the object. “I thought you should like to wear something else for dinner tonight.”

The ornate blue and silver dress fell in waves contrasting against the black velvet seat.

“Really?! Wait. What if it doesn’t fit?”

Armando stepped closer and his sultry fingertips traced the line of her side then slid around her waist before moving down to her hip and holding her in place.

“I know it will.”

That now familiar sensation flushed over her and heat rose to her chest anticipating him leaning in and kissing her across her neck and face.

“This is not, um, I don’t think right now.”

“You are right. You are not ready. But you will be ready for me on our wedding night,” and he suddenly released her.

Teresa stood for a moment in shock.

“Still,” he began to take off his uniform, “the crew have their washing day, so shall I. You may stay if you wish.”

Before she could make a decision he sat down and began to remove his boots slowly, grunting while pulling the tight black leather down from his leg and over his stockinged foot yet not ever taking his eyes from hers. She was entranced and unable to move when a devious smile took his mouth and he quickly removed his shirt over his head.

“You have decided to stay?”

The question was enough to bring her to her senses. _Just a peek? No no no you know how that will go. Stop staring like you’ve never seen a naked man before. Distract yourself. He can’t be all… oh. OH. I don’t think there is any way to prepare for that._

“I’m going to um go get, uh thank you for dress!” she exclaimed as she frantically gathered the clothing, dropping her head thankful that the room was encased in shadowy darkness as she ran across to his room.

Reaching for the doorknob she heard a noise that made her stop. The last of his clothing dropped to the ground. The sound forced a complete shiver to her body and her breath hitched. She knew he was staring back at her, calculating whether or not she would turn around.

And she gave in.

The briefest of glances, not even sure she had seen more than a silhouette.

He let out a small laugh and watched her struggle with the door before she dove behind it. 

Teresa leaned back to watch as her chest rose and fell, trying to catch her breath, shaking her head until finally through clenched teeth she admitted, “Alright. He’s not – he’s not playing fair!”

All those years with Addie, all the crazy adventures into the world with Cheche, now she was truly going to have to adapt all of her interactions, including being more direct with Armando. She thought of the dress as a costume and laughed holding up the corset. _I always did want to play Eliza_. _He thought of everything!_ _Proper underwear though thank you_. _Cannot believe I have to figure this out by myself_.

She paused before opening the door and looked down once more to admire the dress.

_Then you look back at me_

_And suddenly I’m Helpless!_

_Oh look at those eyes_

_Yeah I’m helpless… _

_Down for the count_

_And I’m drownin’ in em… _

She smiled at her own reflection while fixing her emerald earrings.

_So what now?_

Then as if to answer her question, her gazed turned to his sword laying on the bed. The touch of cold steel, the weaving of the rounded hilt supporting the tips of her fingers pressed down against the design burned along her hand and up her arm. The sword rolled slightly and caught the sunlight down the blade when she moved away.

Then she remembered.

_He’s serious about the marriage thing isn’t he? And I spent the night in his arms. No! No! He’s a human being. Dignity. Find the dignity_.

“Where’s that damn rock?”

Armando was still washing when she came out of his room humming the last lines to the song.

“I think, I’ll get some fresh air.” He rose slightly and motioned but she ran past. “No no it’s fine I’ll, you stay there.”

She opened the door.

And looked on deck.

And saw what was making the repetitive sound of the water and the clamorous laughter.

She held her breath and - stood there.

Then snapped her eyes shut and fell back on the door. This image surely was never going to leave her memory. Half the crew of the Silent Mary and all her Officers, stripped down to bare nothingness, standing in the sun and drenched from a seawater pump, playing in the water as if they were the most carefree boys on earth. But there was nothing boyish about their figures.

Because to work efficiently on a sailing ship one must stay, fit. Be in good health. Stay active. Shoulders steady and broad backs to carry out their duty proficiently. It was a Michelangelo painting come to life, as he meant the figures to be seen before the prudish aristocracy made artists paint fig leaves everywhere.

Was 10 seconds she stood there? She did not know. As her thoughts finally made contact with her legs she backed into the room and shut the door still unable to open her eyes.

And sighed.

And listened.

She did not hear anything and convinced herself Armando had removed himself while she had stepped out.

_I am never going to be able to look Gui in the face again._

Her breath returned until she picked up on the familiar slosh of water and opening her eyes gazed on him rising out of the tub.

A shadowed outline glowing against the dim candlelight appeared. Her eyes drawn so easily across his shoulders, his arms, down his chest and flowing naturally down to hips. Across scars never mentioned. A slash across his side and from a wound not very old.

A small gasp caught his attention even as she threw her hand over her mouth.

“Ah, would you bring me the blanket?”

Still hand over her mouth she answered with a timid nod. Fumbling around she could only find one that had been on the settee. Teresa kept her gaze down and stretched as far as she could in the confining dress, closing her eyes not daring to look further up than his feet.

He realized she closed her eyes and with an abrupt tug of the fabric pulled her forward to fall to his arms. He left no hesitation leaning her back to slam his lips against hers immediately taking her breath. It was the sort of faint inducing kiss that demanded an equal reciprocating. The releasing endorphin type of kiss and she could feel herself begin to want. Teresa had accepted his caress before, enjoyed before, but not above submitting. This was pure demanding, an urge to be unwrapped, her body crying out to have him completely. 

Only he did not move beyond her mouth. He did not roam his touch beyond the current hold he secured.

And she was aware that cold water began spotting against her chest.

‘The dress. Silk. It doesn’t mix well.”

He stood up wrapping the blanket around his waist.

“What do you think of my present?”

“It is – amazing! Beautiful but very stiff. The stays were a little difficult to get in place. Overall, yes. I think this it the most uncomfortable thing I have ever worn in all my existence and I cannot wait to get out of it.”

Armando smiled.

There she was, impeccable formality and he still glowing from the bath with only a blanket around his waist and keenly aware she was completely at his mercy.

“Do I at least look the part?”

“Hmm,” his voice dark as he circled while his eyes trace every seam as if she were being paraded for inspection.

“Hmm? I am dressed looking like a porcelain figure and all you can say is hum?”

“Would you rather I show you how I feel? How beautiful you are? Because if I do this dress will end up on the floor in pieces.”

“I –“ she backed up falling down on the settee and started laughing. “I cannot walk in this!” 

He leaned over bringing his arms down on either side of her. She tried to keep her eyes focused to his, when the weight of the blanket fell heavily on her lap as he descended to kiss her forehead.

_Right. Now’s your chance_. She sang his name and curved the corner of her lips in a smile. “Armando?”

His body held steady but his eyes, his eyes widened.

“You should do something with your hair.”

“What?” her voice cracked.

“There is some time. Miguel has a book that will help you,” he said before backing away leaving her to sit agape.

_Son of a_ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a deleted chapter.   
Enjoy!


	21. A Serpent is Very Calculating

_You know what? Forget it. _

Teresa’s fingers were rough as she ran them against page after page in Magda’s book. The designs and styles seemed haphazard to her, great lengths of curls spilling down from perfected and even parts, falling down past the women’s shoulders, cascading even beyond their waists. Nothing like she had imagined styles of that time. It was tempting, and for a brief moment she contemplated recklessly embracing a full modern style using up any hair products she had left in her bag. Even as her hands tossed and raked, braided and ponytailed, she made faces in the mirror before her imagining great heights of a teased beehive or sweeping bangs covering half her face, she settled on a demure half up style neatly pinned in a braided bun on the top of her head. Where and why Miguel Magda was keeping a set of extraordinary hairpins including one that must have originated in China was not something she wanted to ask him. Still, this particular item intrigued her. She held it in her hand like a pencil and watched as the pearls and jade beads swung back and forth from their strings on the top. _No, better choose something else to put in my hair_. She reached instead for the ribbon she had always worn, the one Lesaro had given her early in their journey, and tied it around the bun, closing with a bow at the back.

The sun was still high above the unsettled horizon and the wind began rising in such incredible tumultuous gestures, heaping gusts along the sides of each ship, snapping the canvas making it difficult for the _Predestinatsia_ to stay a safe distance from her escorts.

The crew were rushing against the wind, controlling lines and pulleys listening to the commands from the Officers and coordinating a small platform that swung over the edge of the ship to lower the boat that would take Capitán Salazar, Lieutenant Lesaro, and Officer Santos to the Russian ship.

Teresa brushed her hands down the skirt and inhaled deeply before opening the door. Her first step was quiet and her mind filled with relief as the men around her continued to ignore her presence.

Until Capitán Salazar noticed.

And her eyes fixed on his across the wind-swept deck. She no longer heard the snapping of the canvas or the slip of rope through the sailor’s rough hands. Their voices became no more than whispers and as far away as the gulls circling in the distance.

Lesaro broke into her vision and proudly stepped forward. “What do you think of the shoes Señorita Romero?”

Teresa smiled and made an awkward short curtsey.

“Well they are a bit -“

He cut her off with a smile. “I helped pick them out!"

“Oh, um,” she hesitated not wanting to insult his kind gesture with the truth of how tightly they fit. She also warned herself not to look down. “They are very lovely. Thank you.”

Officer Madga came to inspect her and raised his eyebrow. “I suppose it fits. Mostly,” he said and shook his head.

Teresa squinted at him but kept her mouth shut. _What do you want? I am by myself doing this you know!_

“I do like the hair,” Magda continued while walking around her. “It will pass. We could always say she is recovering from _a womanly illness_ if they ask.”

“Exactly what do you mean by that?” Teresa shot back.

Officer Magda did not have time to reply. The wind was again attacking and he was returned by Salazar’s order to the helm.

It was Officer Antonio Moss who then pulled the Lieutenant aside. “I do not like it,” he said.

Lesaro excused himself from Teresa’s side.

“I am sorry Lieutenant. Yes my brother is there but the rest of her crew, uncivilized. They are not held to the _Mary’s_ standards. She should stay with us,” Moss said.

Lesaro questioningly looked back at him. “You think it would be safer?” He was surprised to hear genuine concern in Antonio’s voice. But Moss’ words confirmed something Lesaro had already sensed. There had not been enough of her time spent with Herrera practicing formal Spanish and her walk, too clumsy in the new shoes. Then there was her story. That was going to be the most difficult obstacle. Lesaro knew it and had almost talked Salazar into agreeing with him. Now with even Moss having the same inclination… “I am afraid I agree with you.”

Teresa was pensive and studied the men as they continued to lower a box to the little boat suffering tremors floating on the choppy ocean below. Officer Santos rigidly placed himself at her side and looked over the edge.

“Calm. Nothing to worry about,” he said.

She turned with disbelief at his words. “Calm?” It was then she noticed his face had paled and his back stiffened and she understood.

“Yes Santos. Very calm,” she was reassuring herself as much as him.

“Santos, we are ready.” It was Capitán Salazar’s voice, and Santos swallowed heavily.

“Yes Capitán,” he said and turned quickly on his heel to leave.

Salazar took Teresa’s hand and laid it on top of his, then rested their hands together on the rail. “Before we leave, may I ask of you something?”

Instantly a thousand questions surfaced to her mind and none of them with pleasant outcomes. She only nodded.

“I have forgotten a box for the diplomat in my desk. It is small, in the top drawer. Would you please retrieve it for me?”

Teresa sighed and smiled and Armando leaned down to kiss her forehead before she left.

“Rather bold of you,” Officer Magda told his Capitan.

The kiss had been bold. Done in front of his men and most scandalously, done in sight of anyone aboard the Presdestinastia.

“Magda, do not hesitate to open fire if you see any change in course of either ship.” He stepped in closer. “She is to be kept in my quarters. Is that clear?”

Officer Magda leaned back. “Yes Capitán. Very clear.”

Capitán Salazar’s desk was always clear and organized on top. This drawer he had directed Teresa to, this box he ordered her to find however, was not. It was not full of personal items but rather a strange bent pipe covered in brown carvings, and at least an inch deep of loose papers, some with great swirls of writing and some with what could only be described as the most hastily of done sketches. Faces in contorted looks, ocean going creatures, and in one that she held up to the light, a drawing of a small room. There was a simple wooden chair in the middle of the room and beams of light directed toward it from the window. No door, no bed, only dark lines to indicate a wooden floor, and something scribbled at the top covered in large blots of black ink.

Several minutes passed and she gave up looking for the box, slammed the desk drawer shut and started walking to the door.

“Ack Antonio! You scared me.”

“My apologies Señorita Romero.”

“How is your arm?” she asked.

“I heal quickly.”

“Good,” Teresa stepped forward, but he intercepted.

“Señorita Romero.”

“Yes?” Drawing out the last consonant and rolling her eyes.

“Officer Magda and I will have dinner with you.”

She moved again to sidestep but he countered. “Don’t do this to me.”

Moss only stood his ground and looked ahead.

“Antonio, please.”

“No.” It was that answer combined with hand on sword that made Teresa realize the cause of his hesitation.

“Does Salazar assign you to always be the barer of bad news?”

“Capitán’s orders,” he said.

“We both know I’m going to go through that door with or without your permission.”

Teresa heard the sound of the oars splashing into the ocean and raised her hands to push Moss out of the way.

He shook his head and again reached for his sword.

“I am sorry,” his voice now gentle and hushed.

“I hate being locked in,” Teresa whispered. She could not hold the disappointment.

“He promises to bring back some fresh fruit! Maybe even turron.” His eyes grew wide from the memory of such delights. “La _Anunciación __always has the finest things.”_

Teresa stepped back and rested against a chair. The shoes were becoming more than uncomfortable.

“It is only a short time. We will be in Cadiz soon and you will see such beauty and taste all the delights of Spain!” 

Suddenly her plan of escape became clear as she watched his eyes catch the brightness of a memory. She had noticed how picky Moss had been at dinner and how he ate with exceptional care. The way he delicately took food from his fork and rolled each morsel in mouth, taking the longest of any Officer to savor the bite before consuming everything before him.

Teresa interrupted his thoughts_. _

“You know what I’d like? Steak. Giant outdoor barbecue and chili rellenos and this sauce! You have to eat outside because oh and then you just lick your fingers. Garlic and smokey paprika and small hint of honey. That’s the secret ingredient.” She leaned closer to make her next word clear. “Honey.”

Moss’ eyes widened as he watched her describe the meal and he shifted uncomfortably.

Teresa slowly rose from against the chair and walked closer to him. “Sorry. I must be hungry. Are you jealous Antonio?”

“Of _Anunciación_? No. There is no ship as the Mary. I like to hunt the pirates,” his voice now steady. “They are fun to play with. Like the birds when we were children. Hiding up in the olive trees and I would climb so fast!”

“You caught birds with your bare hands?”

“No.” Moss hung his head. “Rocks.”

“Oh poor birds!”

“I know Senorita Romero. I am ashamed now but they would eat the olives! Sometimes we climb the ruins and –“

That word caught her attention immediately and she broke in. “Ruins?”

“Yes Señorita.”

There it was. Finally, perhaps a corner to the puzzle of why she was there. Maybe it would make sense once they arrived. Her thoughts began to race.

“What type of ruins?”

He hesitated and looked questioningly. “Rock walls.”

“Were they granite? Limestone? Describe them.” Her mind was filling with ideas. Useful ideas. Her knowledge, if she could retain her memories, might be what made this journey helpful. Or it could be devastating to the future. Another secret she would have to keep, be covert about gaining knowledge from every person she came in contact with once they landed in Spain.

“Grey and white? Heavy.”

“Cadiz sounds interesting.” Getting up and walking slowly toward door, “Please, continue.”

“Not Cadiz. Huelva.”

“Huelva. In the mountains?”

“No, it is – “

Finally caught off guard Teresa pushed past and out the door, Moss too surprised to do anything but stumble back. She ran to the rail only in time to see Salazar board _Anunciación_ in the distance.

Moss rushed after her and immediately placed himself between her and the view of the ship.

“They will be back before twilight,” Moss could only hope Salazar did not see why he was on deck.

“Or else they have to stay overnight?”

“Capitan will ensure that is not an option.”

Officer Magda glared at Moss before turning to Teresa. “Our meal is ready. Immediately.”

Moss swallowed.

“It’s my fault Miguel. Don’t blame Antonio. He did try.” Teresa looked slowly over her shoulder. The afternoon, the long afternoon settled in before her and she had to keep it company with Moss and Magda, two men who she could not imagine having an agreeable discussion about anything at any time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Plan is to have the next chapter up by the end of the month, if all is well. Thank you for continuing to read their story!


	22. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dinner, A Dilemma, A Dispatch

Officer Miguel Magda opened the door to Salazar’s quarters and Teresa entered first, followed by Officer Moss who sheepishly kept his head down and refused to look at his Superior Officer.

On the table sat a humble meal, one all of them had been used to as supplies dwindled the closer their approach to Cádiz.

It had not been questioned when Magda placed himself at the head of the table in the grand carved chair all knew was reserved for Capitán Salazar. Moss had no authority to contradict him and Teresa had no wish to argue with the man. She felt tired, alone, frustrated, and quite defenseless against the verbal assault Magda had always thrown at her when he had the opportunity. This meal proved to be the same, for Magda did not wait for his fellow Officer to sit down before beginning to question Teresa. He had questioned her before regarding maps and places, oddly the weather, pressuring her to as to how she could know so much about patterns along the coast and why she was so certain that the new land of California lacked consistent rain.

Now he was asking, interrogating rather, about her education and growing more frustrated as each question received a curt answer.

Officer Magda placed both hands on the table and turned abruptly to Moss. “Your brother. You think he fared better this time?” His question was met with silence, an even more frustrating response than Teresa’s brief yes or no’s.

Teresa looked up, but only at Moss who was distracting himself by meticulously picking apart a small fish that had been caught earlier in the day. Yes, the cook would make things last and be delicious and still, still, she reminded herself, she had not met him.

“Señorita? Please, you eat anything?” Moss said. He did not want to sound concerned but that last note of the last syllable betrayed his composure.

Her thoughts were not on the plate, nor the food, nor the awkward conversation between the two men seated next to her at the Capitán’s table. The _Anunciación _remained out of sight from where she sat in _his _quarters. _His_ space. _He_, absent for the first time since her arrival. It was the _Predestinatsia_ that remained in close view from the stern windows. The same windows Capitán Salazar had held her in front of when he finally decided to take that first kiss from her. And she was remembering all of it. It read across her face in waves of blushes, in small movements of her fingers across the table, an intense recall of memory to her eyes as she closed them, even now, if front of Magda and Moss.

Teresa had been alone before. Very comfortably alone, really. Retiring at the end of the day in her apartment, throwing off her shoes and ignoring any signs of life next door. The silence gave her comfort. If she had been confined for the day in the office and forced to hear the whines and hums of her peers and feel the crowding of shoulders each time data loaded to the one, _one_, outdated seismograph they had to work around, she took those first moments at home all to herself and washed all the voices out of her mind. She was thankful really for her small space in Monterey and insisted upon two requirements for any place she would call home. The first would be to personally inspect any retrofitting blueprints the building manager claimed had been done, and second that no expense was spared with the plumbing of the building. Immediate hot water in a shower was a luxury that she longed for when in the field. She longed for it now too but had contented herself with all the warm baths was had been allowed.

Cheche would give sweeping and endearing remarks on how settled she had been in her heart, in her soul. He was much like a firefly, binding himself during daylight hours to the obscurity of basement restaurants in the city. He emerged at the first moments of twilight with resplendent illumination that if he wasn’t careful, he let flare and reflect on the people around him until he was consumed by his own flashes and had to retreat again to the darkness.

Addison? There was someone who preferred company of others to the thoughts in her own mind and would have, in her own words, ‘withered as a day-old hibiscus blossom if it were not for the company of other human beings’. Guests were a constant at the apartment. Family gatherings became International affairs, requiring the booking of an entire hotel. Addison might have been mistaken as a commercial for one of those absurd energy drinks or an evil villain who covertly knew how to introduce an IV into the soul of the Universe and drain it directly to her veins.

Not Teresa. The field of work she had chosen required a comfortable aloneness. The job requested, required, the ability to monolog and keep the names of rocks and fault lines as your closest friends. It is what set her higher than her peers and kept her working when others would return from the field and quit, throwing away years of education and thousands of dollars attached to that degree all because they could not handle being alone with their own thoughts for more than a few hours. She sometimes had to endure days alone. The longest and most difficult trial had been obtained by her own request. The shock even to herself for volunteering to be alone with only her equipment, a mid-1990’s GMC truck to sleep in, and the stars at night for two weeks made her realize this was a deep vocation. It took a full hour of debate to convince the head of the Department that she was of ‘sound mind and body’ and won her argument on the simple truth that no one else had the shear amount of travel experience that her coworkers sadly lacked.

She should have felt calm then, sitting at that table. But Armando Salazar’s words, whether she wanted to believe them or not, it was a ceaseless echo of how she now found herself feeling:

‘_I am tied to you in this battle for my soul.’_

The agitation then was not caused by physical separation. It was her heart now separated from itself. He would be gone, and she knew, not for hours but perhaps until the morning or if the seas remained this dangerous for any small boat, would not return until they reached Cadiz.

Yet, another voice crept in her mind - a brief flash of clarity:

_’_ _Capitán__ will ensure that is not an option.’ _

Teresa repeated Officer Moss’s words over and over, vainly attempting to appease the aching need to remain calm. No harm would come to her on _La María Silenciosa_ but what of him on the other ship?

Capitán Salazar admitted it was unusual, an Ambassador from a country his own had rarely engaged in gaining permission not only to resupply at Cádiz but to have a full audience and that he, Capitán of the mostly heavily armed Galleon in the Armada, must entertain two men who were nothing more than wandering politicians. And she only knew her own modern history to make any sense of a far away fledgling monarchy. _Never invade Russia in Winter_ was the only advice she could remember; and she had whispered it into his ear, watching a slow smile appear at the corner of his mouth during that tense conversation. The same conversation which he had reminded her:

_‘I need you to be strong, si?’ _

Magda watched Teresa’s face and noted her growing agitation. He found himself rolling his eyes each time she sighed.

“Señorita Teresa,” Magda was again about to try and divert her attention.

She quickly returned his offer with a sharp glare and Magda stopped short.

Her heart was rising to the surface and burning through her chest; that intense fire not allowing the normal five senses to convey anything to her mind.

She forced herself to try and eat. One morsel hung delicately from the bottom of her fork.

She raised it to her lips.

Only to put it down again.

But she had to eat, she told herself and raised the fork again to her mouth. The taste of bitter metallic from the silver utensil slid across her tongue. Everything seemed to taste of metal, even the rim of the glass and the dark liquid slipping down her throat. The air that passed over her open mouth felt like something was laying copper pennies one by one to the inside of her cheeks. In desperation she grabbed the last piece of bread from the middle of the table and forgoing all manners tore it in smaller bites and shoved them in her mouth. She began chewing a small piece, and then another, coating the bread with now metallic tasting saliva until finally she grabbed the glass in front of her and poured the last of its contents into her mouth and forced all of it down her throat.

That was enough.

_Enough! I can’t even hear myself think!_

Teresa abruptly pushed her chair back with one long scratch against the floor and stood, throwing her napkin down on the floor.

Neither Officer had time to rise before she ran for the door.

Moss watched her storm out, a wave of guilt rushing down his spine.

“Miguel, do something,” he protested.

“What do you propose? She is impatient nothing more,” Magda responded with his usual unmoved tone.

“You are no help.”

“Antonio, sit down and finish your meal,” he was on the cusp of making it an order.

“I have lost my appetite.”

If it had been enough for Teresa, it too had been enough tension for Antonio Moss. He did not bother with the accustomed request for dismissal. He had to remove himself from Magda’s company before he said something he might regret.

“It is a beautiful ship,” Moss remarked, pensive about approaching her.

Teresa stood at the port side rail, arms folded and full weight against it, staring at the only place her heart wanted her to see_: La_ _Anunciación._

“Hmm? Yes. I guess so.”

“I apologize for Officer Magda’s behavior.” 

Teresa shook her head. “Every time he speaks I feel like he would rather be stabbing my throat.”

“He thinks he understands people like he understands the winds.”

She tried to turn her attention to observing the crew of both ships, but it was futile. “I knew he hated me. You know what? I don’t care.”

“Is that truly how you feel? He may not trust you, but he does not hate you. Capitán Salazar would never,” Moss stopped short. “No one on _La María_ hates you Señorita.”

Even out on deck, with the sun casting ominous longer shadows, Teresa could not stop the constant vision in her head of Salazar leaving. The vexing look in his eye she alone had recognized after he kissed her forehead and sent her off to find an item that never did exist lay on her heart.

“He will be back,” Antonio Moss tried to sound certain.

“It’s not that. Something is not right about this entire,” Teresa lifted her head, “operation.”

He lightly laughed, “You have a very suspicious nature.”

She abruptly turned toward him. “Tell me more about Cádiz.”

Moss cleared his throat, surprised at the sudden change but glad to focus on their port. “Cádiz is very busy. There is a grand Cathedral…”

Teresa listened patiently laying out the city in her mind has he described it. She was determined to understand, and Moss was proving to be a wealth of information.

The austere Officer finished his meal, wiped his mouth delicately and looked around. He had been in this space alone before, though he had made sure neither the crew nor El Capitán himself knew. Perhaps, he thought, he should spend the time watching the other ships or studying the maps that were carelessly left on his desk. He could take the opportunity to find out exactly the depth of the relationship between his Capitán and Teresa Romero. The thought of finding out whether or not Armando had spent the evenings resting or indulging himself flashed across his mind. The possibly was not out of the question and the information… Miguel instead shook his head. Truly he felt rather ambivalent about the matter.

He rose, making sure not to scrape the chair legs across the floor unlike their guest had been so inconsiderate to do. It was peaceful in the room and Miguel took a moment to admire the surroundings and gather his thoughts. An impressive Capitán’s quarters with an equally impressive view. He let the warmth come through the windows and rest on his hands. His hands were a tool and in the time he had been on La Maria he had used them for benefit and for ill. For mischief and for pleasure. He discovered so much of the world with his hands. The familiar hues of an orange sunset began to walk across his fingers. The day was ending and he knew Salazar would not be back by nightfall. The waves and the wind told him and he squinted his eyes to the distance attempting to mark how far away _Predestinatsia_ continued to follow.

No matter.

Officer Moss would have the helm this evening. A chance for the young man to prove his worth against a windy sea.

Still, he was not settled. There was the painting he could contemplate. No. He found it odd that Armando Salazar would keep such a vulgar piece in his quarters. Did the man imagine himself as Bacchus, surrounded by such common folk dressed in country uniforms, come to worship him? Were these other men in the painting a reflection of the Officers under his command? Certainly Miguel Magda did not see himself in any of those faces. Even if Armando did think of those figures in this way, Miguel would rather not know.

But even more troubling in that ostentatious room was the heavy wooden piece against the far wall. That retablo with its imposing Sorrowful Virgin Mary and fiery depiction of Purgatory beneath her feet. Her eyes pierced his, attempting to convey and offer her heart to save his own. He found he could not walk near it. There was a grand invisible shield between himself and that grief in her eyes. Ah, it must be the Holy Angels, he thought.

“Keep your guard up well,” he said to the figure.

But now his hands found themselves on the handle to Capitán Salazar’s bedroom door, turning it, waiting for the heavy stop to remind him it was locked. Only it was not. He entered inside this little corner of the ship and it breathed of possibilities and hope and peace. The bed remained unmade. There was only one conclusion and Miguel smirked. It is serious then, he told himself.

As he turned to leave one item seized his attention.

The white box he had seen when Teresa tried to help Bracero. He tapped the side. It did not sound like wood. Nor did it sound like metal.

He tapped the side again.

And ran his fingers over the solid red cross on the top.

It was painted, he imagined. Hand painted designs and English lettering everywhere.

“FIRST AID”

First. There is a second? he thought.

But that did not matter. He observed the hinges and clasps, remembering how he watched Teresa open it when administering to Bracero.

If he picked it up, his curiosity would lead him to opening it. If he opened it, there would be discovery, there would be more questions. He was willing to risk that.

There it was, laying on the top inside. The bottle Teresa had called for during her first illness. Miguel knew she prized it most of all and he tried to read the label. More English lettering, but this had a familiar pattern to it. Latin and measurements.

The door suddenly cracked open.

“What are you doing in here!?”

Miguel stopped his investigation and calmly replied, “What are you doing Padre?”

Herrera hastily lifted his gold aspersorium and waved it in Officer Magda’s face.

“Why would Capitán’s room need your blessing?”

“Miguel Magda my son - No lies.”

He produced the small white bottle for the flustered Padre.

“Very well. These medicines. She has them every day?”

“Yes.” Herrera could not be surprised at Magda’s inquiry.

“And what will happen if she stops taking them?”

“I do not know.” It was not a lie yet Herrera had suspicions.

“Will she die Good Herrera? Hm?”

“We pray daily for her miraculous healing.”

“Do you know what they are for?” Miguel continued his interrogation. “What malady you are so earnestly petitioning from The Omnipotent Lord? Any specific Saint to mention this intention to? I should like to add the intention to my evening prayers.”

Padre Herrera smiled. “Miguel, since when do you keep your daily prayers? I entreat you of all people to do so.”

“Give me the name of the Saint and perhaps I will.”

“San Blas,” Herrera said. “But I have already said to much. You must leave here.”

“Tell me what it is that ails her. Perhaps I have some…”

“Miguel, nothing in your science will cure her.”

“So it is true,” he said quietly. “I ask you again dear Padre. Will she die without them?”

Herrera refused to answer.

“I see.”

“I do not think you do, son. Now go. Remove yourself or I will tell Armando what you were doing in here.”

Officer Magda grabbed the man’s delicate arm. “She will die. And what do you think that will do to El Capitán? Herrera. Let me help.”

“No! No! Miguel you will only cause more strain.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the outer door requesting Officer Magda’s presence.

Breathless, a boy ran to the helm, bowed respectfully and handed his dispatch to the stone faced Officer.

“Message from Capitán Salazar,” the boy said.

Magda took the small piece of unofficial document in his hands.

“Could not even bother with a seal,” he remarked.

The handwriting was unmistakably Lieutenant Lesaro’s.

_Everything as expected. Demanding to stay beyond sunset. Letter for Officer Moss_.

The boy bowed a second time as he handed Magda the scroll. This was official. This was sealed. A heavy sigh filled his lungs.

“Thank you, you are dismissed.”

The young boy returned with the same urgent speed that brought him, back to the small boat and any fate carried in the power of the rowers against the strength of the growing swells on the ocean’s surface. Magda shook his head at the enthusiasm of the boy, knowing it was only the folly of youth that would volunteer to such a crossing. The crew of La Maria could do nothing as they stood watched the boat tumble across the water until it was close enough that their foreign counterpart could throw ropes down and rescue the four sailors. 

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while I go to pieces editing this beast of a fic. I will continue to update once a month.


	23. Blackbird

Boots on the deck.

That deck creaked – hard and unsteady – and Capitán Salazar positioned himself for the possibility that the entire ship may sink if any of the men stepped too harshly. He raised his head just enough, just so, and caught the eye of now Acting Capitán of _Anunciación_.

“Welcome aboard Capitán,” the voice a contortion of melancholy and duty.

Lieutenant Fernandez was a hollow looking man, all cheekbones and sunken eyes of an ancient face not truly reflecting his age of thirty and five. While his bones may look to have collapsed years ago and his frame now only held together by expertise sailor’s knots and wrapped in a stiff Armada uniform, it was his mind that carried his status. Men who could transform Tercio battlefield tactics on the sea were rare. It was a talent that allowed him to quickly make friends in appropriate circles and when the recommendation for Lieutenant arrived he was a vase of pride. Salazar knew him for his wit and erudition. Watched him haphazardly carry his books from the auditorium to bunk and back to auditorium again, never losing a sheet of paper when they crossed paths. He carried a watch but seldom used it; Salazar often caught him looking up to the sun and placing his hand against the horizon to tell the time. Useful and practical knowledge but it made the boy late for every lesson by no less than five minutes. The tardiness was excused for no one dared tell the Vice Admiral that his brilliant tactical son had no time management skills.

His hands quite damaged, Lesaro observed, when his counterpart made a salute. The knuckles were burnt and red from injury sustained from the attack of _The Orion_. There had been a time not long ago those same hands were soft and delicate and skilled with a rapier. Only the second man Lesaro would seek out to test and exercise the new fighting techniques with. A fair opponent. A friend who if he remembered correctly…Lesaro shook his head in disapproval of his own thoughts.

Officer Santos stepped back when Fernandez introduced himself. Men like that were either malnourish at the fault of their Capitán or perpetually sickly, carrying home with them a horrid malady from the Tropics and likely to infect the entire ship. Santos managed a quick touch to his hat in salute before he returned to attention at Lesaro’s side.

Capitán Salazar noticed the hesitation and he looked around him, keenly noting the disposition of the remaining Officers gathered. _Anunciación’s __pride_ stood as a small, pitiful line; eyes that gazed over Capitán’s shoulders in a vacuous stare.

Defeat.

Loss.

_La María Silenciosa_ had sustained damage yet she only lost one crew member. _Anunciación_ sailed with the appearance of a wounded horse and her crew reflected it. They struggled to stand still. Restless seas beneath their feet could only be written as one excuse. One sailor fell to the ground when the topsail snapped. Fear had hold of every man’s soul and Salazar pitied them.

If _he_ had been in charge.

If _he_ had been made Admiral. No man would have been lost to any pirate. He would have protected them.

If _he_ had been Commander of the action.

Instead _Capitán_ Armando Salazar took a deep breath and addressed Fernandez.

“Thank you,” Salazar’s word struck against the cold wind.

“Lieutenant Lesaro!” Fernandez’ voice picked up in friendly greeting.

“Ah, how are you my old friend?” Lesaro began to reach out and stopped short.

The two stayed at a distance from each other, both marking how the other had changed in disposition and looks.

“To be honest could be better. “

“Capitán Martinez?” Salazar interjected.

The lieutenant reached his left hand behind him and allowed a scroll to pass into his hand before continuing.

“Dead Capitán. _The Orion_ had us too close and she unleashed quickly. Capitán had no time to move out of the way when a block came down and. I do not wish to give the gruesome details.”

“The details, _Acting_ Capitán, are precisely what I want,” frustration mounting through his tone.

“It was a quick death, Capitán. Praise God quick. Crushed, along with three of our other men,” his voice reverential as he removed his hat and made the Sign of the Cross.

“Thankfully,” returning his hat to the rightful position, “Our distinguished passengers and the ship we are escorting escaped all damage!” Fernandez stepped back slightly and raised his voice higher on the last three words of the sentence.

Salazar had wondered where the Ambassador had been hiding himself.

Draped in immaculate silk and perfectly quaffed, the entire reason for this engagement stepped forward followed quickly by another powdered-wigged man, albeit shorter and dressed in fewer jewels.

The second man spoke.

(My compliments, Captain Salazar on your impeccable timing.)

Salazar’s face remained unchanged as the man extended his hand accompanied by a slight bow.

(Captain Salazar.) This time is was the Ambassador. (I am greatly looking forward to reaching the shores of your united Empire.) His bow much deeper, leaning back on his heeled foot while the curls of his wig danced along his shoulders. Every part of this man was sparking light, from the buckles on his shoes, to the silver threads in his coat, the large emerald ring on his middle finger of the hand that lay firmly on a tall ebony cane topped with silver scrollwork. Salazar knew what those canes were used for. Discipline, command, nothing beneficial for the men who owed their lives to the owner of the cane.

Salazar turned his head and looked at Lesaro, who translated the French.

The Ambassador cleared his throat. “Ah, but excuse me. I forget you are not as well versed in the global language yet. My apologies Capitán.”

“Yes.” Lesaro said calmly. “I think it might be in best interests to keep the conversation in Spanish?”

Ambassador Volkov turned his mouth up to a forced smile.

What each man lacked in words they made up for in tension.

All eyes returned to Fernandez. “Capitán Salazar, Ambassador Vasili Fedorovych Volkov and Andrei Petrovich Resanov of the – “

(Must we?) Resanov interrupted.

The Ambassador’s cane tapped once on the deck and the sound immediately drew Salazar’s eyes down. In that second he also saw Resanov slyly remove his hand from the hilt of his sword. It went unnoticed by everyone else. His eyes were wide, scanning, persistent. It might be a Spanish ship but it was crawling with uncertainty. And the impression their guests held more power to command than he deemed necessary.

Volkov tilted his head slightly and employed his diplomatic arts with a quick gesture of his hand toward the double doors leading to once Capitán Martinez quarters. “Come - Capitán, Lieutenant. We have a feast in honor of our victory!”

Santos leaned in a little when he whispered to Lesaro. “French? Again?”

Lesaro shook his head. “Stand down, Santos.” Not that Lesaro would have minded if Officer Santos had made a characteristic quip back at the Russian. But this was a diplomatic visit and every word, every gesture, could be viewed with double meanings. “Do not make an already long visit longer.”

The men of _La Maria_ began to follow Volkov across the quarterdeck when Fernandez touched Lesaro’s shoulder to stop him.

“Before I forget Lieutenant,” he paused, producing the scroll from behind is back. “There is a message for one of your Officers. And you might want to write your own dispatch. The Ambassador _requests_ everyone stay aboard tonight. He has expressed his _desire_ to come to an agreement about any losses.”

“I doubt Capitán is willing to…”

“It’s not a matter of willing, Lieutenant. Unfortunately, this man has come with too many documents from both his own King and ours. I cannot refuse.”

“Certainly this doesn’t include us,” Lesaro began to step forward again but was intercepted.

“It pertains to anyone in the Armada who wants to keep the peace,” Fernandez eyes were wide, desperate.

“This King, this Tsar… he threatens us with war?”

“Let us say that the Ambassador might be a small man, but has large um, distinguishing features.”

“Understood. Thank you Lieutenant - _Acting_ Capitán. It is good to see you again,” Lesaro patted him on the back.

“No holes!” Fernandez brushed his hands along the front of his uniform.

“Si, no holes,” as he pointed to his missing eye, “No new holes.”

The smell of fresh fruit is was plunged into Officer Santos’s nose before he sat down. He calmly waited for the others to play a dance for seating arrangements, the only one secure was that of Fernandez who hesitated before placing himself in the large leather chair at the head of the table. Salazar sat directly opposite, Santos knew he would see _his_ side as the head even it was not technically.

Lesaro placed himself on his Capitán’s right side, tightly between the strong willed Spaniard and what he observed as the more steady of the two Russians. Resanov smiled back to Lesaro as they settled in the gilded wood chairs. He noticed a strange circle of light, about the size of an orange, appear on the tablecloth to the left of his plate. Lesaro slipped his hand under it and realized. He looked directly up. Cannonball. It had torn through the ceiling in battle leaving a perfect circle above his head. Not the first time he had been in the line of fire but it brought back memories of other cannons. Of other fire-hot shot rolling along the deck. The sudden sound of solid wood broken into shrapnel and imbedding into men’s arms, backs, faces.

Fernandez noticed the look and spoke. “Si. I do apologize. My men have not been able to repair every injury to _Anunciación. _Soon, we will. As soon as we dock in Cádiz.”

Vasili Fedorovych shuffled a small linen napkin in his hands and cleared his throat. “We are sorry about the damage to your ship. And as I told you earlier, the Tzar, he is willing to compensate.” The Ambassador leaned across the table and into Officer Santos space and Diego leaned back, turning only his eyes directly on the man. “What do you think, Captain Salazar? Shall we begin? What price do you ask? Your own ship,” Volkov backed away into his chair and smirked. “What is she again? La Maria - the Silent One?”

Salazar pursed his lips together and inhaled so slowly, so deeply, that the candles on the table flickered.

Santos closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable.

“_La María Silenciosa,_” Lesaro corrected the Ambassador. “I am certain you understand what silence represents. Respect. And like the great eagle who hunts her prey in silence, yet with deadly accuracy never fails to keep her nest safe.” Lesaro paused and looked at his Capitán. “From wolves.”

“True enough,” Resanov said. “Gentlemen. There must be an agreement before we reach Cádiz. Tonight let us dine, honor the dead, and come to an agreeable conclusion.” He stood and raised a small crystal glass. “The health of both our Nations. Prosperity and unity!” He took a languid sip before returning to his seat.

For a moment, Tranquility sat with the men at the table. She hovered directly in the middle, over the glazed fruits and spice rich fish and meats. She did not keep company long and mixed with the smoke from the slow burning candles on the table that rose upward and out the cannon hole of the ceiling. The light too had been changing and Lesaro marked it’s passing across the table. The waves had calmed but only slightly and he recognized twilight mingling with heavy fog.

Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes it took before Volkov dropped his fork on the plate, wiped his mouth and spoke again. “Capitán Salazar. I have at my disposal such jewels – “

Salazar did not let him finish the offer. “You think I want jewels to repair my ship?”

“It was not meant as an offense,” Resanov held the attention of both men. “We can come to some sort of agreement? Perhaps everyone is agitated from the cold. It is not strange? That I who love the Winter should notice the cold?”

There was a polite laugh from almost everyone.

Capitán Salazar clenched his fist under the table. Salazar had no intention of letting Volkov interfere with his own investigation. “Why did you attack immediately? Why engage such an enemy when you had no security of reinforcements?”

“Capitán,” Fernandez shifted his eyes between the two men. “We did not know your position. Though I am grateful for your Providential arrival.”

“This was our second engagement I think,” Resanov said.

“Your second engagement?” Lesaro almost choked with disbelief. “And you decided it wise to take on The _Orion_. Alone. It then is as you say, fortuitous we were there.”

“Come, come. One pirate ship Captain. They were small. The Great Russian Navy will take all enemies. We are not afraid. Though my report will have to include the unfortunate loss of _Anunciación’s_ own Captain, Tzar Pyotr Alekseyevich will make compensation.” Volkov’s words spilled out.

“Compensation? For the loss of a man. And what do you suppose the price of a man is?” Salazar expected his words to shut the mouth of the Ambassador. He expected his words to be the final authority.

Resanov shifted his eyes quickly to Volkov and he gave a nod.

“There have been decisions made here - on this ship and under your own authority that cost Spain good men,” Salazar continued.

“Those decision Captain, while I understand your opposition came from my Commander.” 

Acting Capitán Fernandez could no longer hold the truth of the orders from Salazar and got up, walked to the desk and came back, a sense of total defeat surrounding him. “It is true,” and he lay the papers in front of Salazar. “We are placed under the command of the Admiral. His orders were to pursue _Orion_ should we discover her even while escorting _Predestinatsia_. Capitán Martinez had no choice.” 

Capitán Salazar took the orders in his hands and sat back to read them. Looking up, he passed them to Lesaro just as someone knocked on the doors.

“Report ensign.” Fernandez called out.

“No safe passage tonight sir,” the man replied. 

“Seems you will have to wait until morning to return to your…_beloved_ –“ Volkov smiled and took the last of his wine into his mouth in one vulgar gulp before standing, “Ship.”

Officer Santos stiffly rose from his seat, holding back his breath and his desire to brave whatever waters lay between them and _La Maria_ if it meant never having to interact with the Ambassador again.

Fernandez escorted his guests out on deck. “My apologies Capitán Salazar. This is not what I wished. I would give you Capitán Martinez’s bed but the Ambassador has – “

Lesaro raised his eyebrow at his old friend.

“I realize it is highly unusual but you must believe me. Far better that he sleeps there, and I remain sleeping sitting upright in Capitán’s chair with my hand on my pistol and Capitán’s keys hidden on my person in the cabin,” Fernandez said.

The last of the twilight dissipated in the fog and the Officers of _La María Silenciosa_ prepared for sleep in a damaged hull on thread bare hammocks. Capitán Salazar chose first, a bottom bunk that had no pillow and no blanket, leaving his sword at his side and his boots on. Lesaro and Santos followed his example, though Santos mumbled something about never taking for granted the luxuries found on La Maria and his own sleeping arrangements ever again. His Capitán heard the comment and slightly smiled before closing his eyes. He needed to sleep, needed to focus on the waves below them, and remind himself that she was still near.

\---

The three ships raised and cut their way through the sea. Behind them, the sunset, the shocking glow that comes from an approaching and distant chariot with strokes of deep orange broken by the waves, so many waves cutting into the rays all trying to reach the ship. And it seemed as if the light, it if could only touch the ships, it would be the hand of the angels reaching out and calming them. Yet the winds picked up and billowed in the sails above her and the men scrabbled at orders to tack, to keep a steady line and keep the distance from those she continued to escort.

Teresa turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes. Her face became the wall where the chilled night air and fog they were entering and her back became the recipient of the sun, of the brightness, of the warmth. Again she turned at looked back at _Anunciación._

Fire touched her face. Salt air crossed her lips.

She felt the familiar weight of a cloak being thrown across her shoulder.

“Thank you Antonio,” she said softly.

“You are welcome.”

But it was Officer Magda’s voice that replied. This time, it did not cut. It was quiet, slow.

“It will be dangerous out here tonight. I will allow you until the bell then you must return to your bed and _stay _there.”

His face remained stone, his eyes on the ship in the distance.

Teresa noticed he still held the scroll tightly.

“How do you continue like this?” her voice was more a shadow of disappointment than anger. “Those men, that boy, they almost died and yet no one here even marks their peril?”

“That is the risk with the sea. You respect her, listen to her in the wind and the waves and she will always save you. Good night, Señorita.”

One last chance to see, to burn the memory of the ship in her mind - a black silhouette against the orange of the sun halfway lost to the horizon, she opened her cloak to warm it with the sun. Teresa had discovered enough timing with the bells to know that Officer Magda had given her fifteen minutes. The ship cracked below her, the sails again cutting across the ship to tack. She would not turn her back to Armando and so she stood facing East. And even though she could not be sure those birds on the horizon were no more than gulls and sea birds that had followed on their journey, their forms turned as dark as the ship on the horizon, looping in sweeping strokes between La Maria’s highest canvas, again to the sea and the sun, soaring out to the other ships. Entering the fog La Maria cut through the blanket. It was around her, the seas calming as they entered the mist and _Anunciación_ disappeared in the blur. There was no possible way Capitán would make the crossing now. He was disappearing into the air and a chill brushed across her cheeks and she felt compelled to sing again.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly  
Into the light of a dark black night_

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ _  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

The sunlight was now disappearing from in front of her and the bell of her fifteen minutes rang. The lanterns on La Maria began to be lit. One by one the other ships followed. She could see the yellow halo of each and they formed circles of fading reflective mist, a floating orb between sea and unknown starless sky.

Teresa’s eyes focused on the lanterns of La Maria, the fog swallowing the ship and her from behind. A spark jumped from the two foot flames and landed on the deck. One spark against the beads of fog.

A second one and she watched it, solid and unmovable her eyes.

A third spark beside it on the deck. This one did not extinguish.

A forth landing inches away.

They grew together, danced together while she could only watch.

_Surely someone will notice._ _One of the deck hands will come and extinguish it_.

They danced higher, a hypnotic trance, closer to each other until they touched. Still one called, and no one came. Teresa leaned forward to remove her cloak but found her feet glued to the wood below her. Her voice tried to shout for help yet her throat closed in silence. Her arms moved forward as she tried to point to the danger.

_It must be danger?_

The deck was now consumed in a square, enough to engulf a grown man’s body. She was whipped around by the wind itself, picking up her feet and spinning her to view the bow. A pinpoint of a glow as if a mirror had been positioned the furthest part of the bow a focal point of the fire.

And out of the fire, a chard figure approached, the same figure from her dream of Monterey.

It lunged.

It lurched forward.

It marched in time with the flames toward her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volkov means wolf.
> 
> The Ambassador initially is speaking French, as the court of Peter wanted to begin to embrace a more "European" way of life and remove the idea that Russia was still living in the Middle Ages.  
Lesaro speaks 'Spanish', Catalan, English and French.


	24. This Side of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiration, Arguments, Announcements  
Attempting to make sense of the visions / Moss reads the scroll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear reader: I hope this finds you well. I know we’re all going through difficulties in addition to the usual, you know, BS of life. I wish I could write faster. I hope this little story helps you escape even for a moment. Whether you laugh or sigh or shake your head or go, yeah there’s a lot to think about here, or simply sip your beverage of choice while hiding under the covers and then fall asleep, I thank you for reading, and I’d love to hear from you. I swear I have not abandoned the fic.  
Sorry it’s taken so long to update. If you’re still reading this, drop a line, a smile, questions, frustrations, anything really. We'll get through this!

Teresa screamed.

She _tried_ to scream.

Instead the air invaded her lungs and it was full of ash and sulfur, burning her throat and cutting with the intensity of small slivers of glass. No vision before had been so intense. The figure slammed through the flames and would not stop its approach. She managed to shake her head rapidly, a pathetic attempt to communicate ‘No! Stop’ but it continued on with the ferocity of a bull charging and thoughts of bracing herself against the deck disintegrated when the figure’s hand reached out for her neck.

She closed her eyes.

And the figure melted through her. There was no pain. No heat from the perceived flames only a breath of cold wind in her chest.

Herrera stood over her in a great panic, his mouth moving above her but she heard nothing.

She had fallen to the deck, the heavy cloak draped around her body as a shield.

There was a tumult of activity around her and the flames she had envisioned consuming the deck vanished. _No, that wasn’t quite right_, she thought.

_They had never been there_.

The same as all strange visions she had been having. They had never been there. Flames leaping from place to place, her crashing into the sea, the heavy breathing of a man cloaked in blackest shadows.

Teresa settled into the pillows on the settee in Salazar’s quarters and pulled the blanket around her. She was conscience enough to understand that the person handing her a warm cup of tea was Herrera and it was only the two of them in the room.

The frail man paused, and with all the distinguished movements of a great emu lost in a sudden flood, sat down on the stool next to her and began to speak.

“What did you see?”

Teresa did not want to say as she wrapped her hands tighter around the hot cup. The door was shut, bolted she presumed, and Herrera was in no mood to show his usual kindness.

“It was dark. Black. But, flames,” she stuttered.

“You saw the devil I think.”

“No. No it wasn’t that,” as if she had seen the devil himself before. Of course she hadn’t she conceded, but she used to pretend what she thought he might look like. The devil appearing with animalistic features, his mouth full of beautiful promises, or as the epitome of everything you could want in a person. Until that person betrayed you. Then you knew you were dealing with the devil.

“No matter,” the priest sighed. “I get you to the church when we arrive in Cádiz. One vision, si. I can dismiss it. You are tired. One vision of a dream is acceptable.”

Herrera was trying to convince himself the benign nature of this figure. What had he to fear? He had the weapons of Heaven around his waist and a book full of remedies that had many times dispelled the Evil One from the ship and her crew. Yet something made him stop, and he gathered his breath to ask another question.

“It has been only one time?”

She paused.

“Daughter. Do not lie.” Fear shot through his eyes and he tried to hide it. “You have seen this before!”

“Well, not exactly this. It’s been different,” she said, hoping her words would calm the man.

“When?!”

“Look, I’m sure it is as you say and nothing more than a hallucination.”

“When, daughter.”

“Alright. In Lesaro’s cabin I saw…I heard, breathing. Painful breaths. And- it spoke.” She put the cup to her lips and took a long drink.

“What did it say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Again?”

There was no lying to this man, even such a small thing he could tell.

“I swear this was a dream. I was walking along the beach and a figure approached me and I,” she could hardly remember yet at the time thought it was reality. “It pushed me into the ocean, just like when the plane crashed. But it was stranger than that. Foggy. Purple and yellows.”

“You were sleeping,” Herrera’s face blushed, “near Capitán?”

“Does it matter? I was in the room next to him yes.”

“The it was as you say, a dream. Good. Still. I get you to the Church immediately.” If that part was true, if she had been near Capitán Salazar for that dream... He pursed his lips. Now was not the time to reveal what he knew about Salazar’s belief regarding the hilt of the sword he carried.

“Herrera?”

“Si daughter?” the fragile man stopped and placed his hands together as if in prayer.

“There is one other thing.” She began to remember what had been the constant in the visions. The smell of dill, the orange blossoms. But the Padre waved in frustration, so many things chaotically weaved in his mind and one more piece of information would have been lost.

The door opened and Officer Magda made an informal entrance.

“Si, si! Tell me when we land in Cádiz,” Herrera got up and began to walk out.

“We are not landing in Cádiz. We are docking by midday. In Huelva,” Magda explained.

Both recipients of the message glanced to the Officer in puzzlement.

“Huelva? Why?” Teresa asked.

Magda pretended not to hear her question. “Herrera, you are needed in the Officer’s mess.”

Herrera gathered his things and spoke nothing as he left the room.

“Huelva? What is going on? Why is no one telling me these things?” To say panic was returning cold and fresh in her veins, no, this was chaos. She focused on the still warm cup in her hands.

“Señorita. Do you trust Capitán Salazar?”

“Yes what a dumb thing – “

“We will be in Huelva by morning.”

“What about the other ships? You cannot go changing plans at the last minute,” as if an Officer of the Armada was going to listen to her.

“You worry Capitán will not join us?” He shook his head. “It was his orders. We shall not follow _Anunciación_ to Cádiz. Capitán has enough wisdom to see this through. A few days in Huelva will be a welcome rest.”

“What has happened?” Her strength regained she put the cup down and stood up. “Please! Huelva,” she whispered and recalled the previous conversation and why that city was so important. “It’s Antonio that needed Herrera! Why? Never mind. You won’t tell me I will go see for myself!”

“Señorita!” Magda stepped out in front of her.

“No!”

“Señorita Romero. I tell you,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “I ask you. Please do not go down there. Stay here. I will have a trunk brought in and you may gather what you can to take ashore. Then sleep. All ills can be alleviated with rest.”

“I am not ill, Señor.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you have no compunction lying to the priest, I know you will also lie to my face. You are ill Señorita and I only wish to help.”

The wind flew into the cabin and she shuttered.

“Sit down. Rest. When will you learn that we mean the best for you?”

Teresa glared back at him, grabbed a random book from one of Salazar’s shelves and threw herself back down on the settee. “Fine. I’ll rest. See? Book! I’ll read.”

Officer Magda clenched his teeth and drew a deep breath. There was only one man patient enough to deal with Teresa, and he was ecstatic not to be that man.

\--- 

“Lieutenant,” a voice whispered directly above him.

Lesaro squinted his eye up at the ceiling.

“Lesaro, wake up.” It was Fernandez tapping him on the shoulder. The only other time he remembered someone tapping his shoulder while sleeping was five minutes before an English ship had arrived, unexpectedly, in the channel between the African coast and Spain. It felt a lifetime ago and yet Lesaro shot up then and with the same force landed on his feet now.

“What time is it?”

“First light. There is a break in the weather. Your Capitán wishes to return to his ship? Now is the time.”

Salazar heard the disturbance from his Lieutenant and make a loud stretch. He nudged with his elbow at Santos who was still sleeping heavily and snoring loudly in the swaying hammock above him. Capitán Salazar got to his feet and Santos, who preferred the sleep and the pleasant dream he was having, crawled awkwardly out of the hammock. No wonder Capitán insisted they wear their boots in their sleep. _Too many unorthodox requests on a ship such as this_, Santos thought.

The Acting Capitán carried with him a small lantern and ushered them to the deck. The stars still commanded the sky and on the horizon in front of them the thinnest line of deep orange appeared.

“Excuse me, but Capitán, if you please. Quietly,” Fernandez motioned to the gunwale.

It seemed strange, this going about a Spanish ship as if they were not in command. But Fernandez would not speak his disapproval of the Russians out loud, instead he spent a moment inspecting the ropes and knots before giving quiet orders to have his three guest placed in the small boat and rowed back to _La Maria Silenciosa_.

Lieutenant Lesaro paused before leaving. “Thank you Fernandez. I hope we met again. Under better circumstances.”

“Yes, yes. Now go,” time was the enemy and the fear across Fernandez face only multiplied Salazar’s own concern.

Truthfully he was happy to be disembarking _Anunciación_. _La Maria Silenciosa_ was only a few minutes away but to Salazar it felt miles. She sat proud against the waves, her canvas steady and gunwale bright and Salazar began to remember the first day they sailed away from Spanish shores. She had been a faithful ship, and he felt a pang of guilt run through his heart as they drew closer. Orion had damaged her, put a wound to the stern just above the water line. A few feet below and… Salazar pushed the though away. No, La Maria was his ship, his pride on display. The boat began to pass under the great figurehead and Salazar glanced upward. When they put in for Cádiz, Salazar promised her, all would be repaired. No stain of pirate damage would touch his great warrior. He was tempted to call her virago, yet she cut through the waters too gracefully to be thought of as such a shrew.

His mind recalled the first time he had crossed under her bow, midmorning sun glaring off the red paint of her dress. That day as they approached in the long boat, surrounded by a new crew, he admired everything about the ship checking off details in his mind, quality of the workmanship, perfections of each joint. But that moment – that single moment they rowed directly beneath La Maria’s figurehead, Armando stood up. The spritsail cast a shadow across her veiled face and he could look up, no longer blinded by the sun. He was Capitán certainly in uniform and title but behind his eyes lay the wonderment of a boy who felt humbled by the presence of his ship. _His ship_. He would have reached up to touch her but snapped back when he heard someone, at the time he thought it was Lesaro, make a comment. The bells of the ship rang out his arrival and the surge, the need to protect her immediately filled his heart.

She hung there above him vowing her own protection with a double spear and shield in her hands and he remember what he had been taught in his youth:

_And I will pronounce my judgments against them, touching all their wickedness, who have forsaken me, and have sacrificed to strange gods, and have adored the work of their own hands. Thou therefore gird up thy loins, and arise, and speak to them all that I command thee. Be not afraid at their presence: for I will make thee not to fear their countenance. For behold I have made thee this day a fortified city, and a pillar of iron, and a wall of brass, over all the land … And they shall fight against thee, and shall not prevail: for I am with thee, saith the Lord, to deliver thee._

Here before him the one woman dressed in armor, veiled beauty and honor. His mind turned to another vision, one of a woman dressed in flowing white. His Venus he called her, his Beloved. A warrior in her own way, tempting and soft. He was returning to them both and his heart ached, unsure of why they had been brought together. She had not changed him, not in any way. Still, it was his soul that called out to her. A longing and purpose and sharpness in her mind.

The figurehead looked down on her Capitán and he turned around slowly as he passed under. It was the same rush of pride shooting though his veins. Wonder, awe, adoration.

_Possession_. He was in possession of the grandest ship in the Armada.  
_Ave Maria_

_Ave Maria_, Salazar heard again. He could have sworn the wooden lips moved.

It was not the voice of the sea.

It was Teresa’s. Clear and bold and faced with the prospect of death she had sung out across the deck. Sung out to him. She was singing, for him. Salazar rejected his own thoughts. No such voice belonged this side of Heaven but he knew she waited for him.

Officer Miguel Magda was momentarily tempted to ring the bell at the arrival of Capitán Salazar. The order never came, partly because he knew Teresa was recovering and the bells would serve as an agitator to her condition rather than a help. His conscience would have to inform the Capitán of the recent events and he would be forced to give an account as to why their guest lay unmoving and pale on his settee under a mountain of blankets and not sleeping in her own bed. Magda shook his head against the thought. No, best to let Capitán ask the questions himself. If Herrera counseled for him not to be involved, for once Magda would comply.

Capitán and his Lieutenant passed across the deck in silence. Salazar’s quarters were dark, and he drew the curtains back sharply. It proved an almost useless gesture, as the sky behind them was still covered in darkness and the stars the only light. Lesaro lit the two lamps above Salazar’s desk.

“I’m awake!” Teresa shot up and then fell back. “Don’t mind me. I am simply catching up on some reading.”

Capitán Salazar had not expected to see her look so peaceful reclining there.

“Oh, what is it Sen.. um Señorita?” Lesaro broke the silence.

“This fascinating little book about nothing that makes absolutely no sense,” she said, gathering the blanket around her and sitting upright.

Salazar said nothing but passed a look to his Lieutenant and walked to his desk.

“Join me Gui?” as he poured two glasses and handed one to Lesaro.

Teresa turned her head down but kept her eyes up looking over the top of the book. She watched as they saluted with their glasses and finished the drink and Salazar opened a drawer to retrieve a large stack of papers. He shuffled them around unintentionally and poured them both another glass.

“No more Capitán.”

“You are right. I should save this ration for breakfast. No. I will toast then. To the Tsar’s man, yes?”

Lesaro stopped the glass at his lips and did not drink. He knew that mood, that tone. There was nothing to celebrate and Salazar was more than agitated about events of the previous day.

“He gave us nothing but a circuitous argument,” Lesaro said.  
“Heal my ship with a handful of jewels. Madness.”  
“More Kings, more Ambassadors, more war.”

“What is worse – no way out.” Salazar slipped back into his chair.

Teresa closed her book loudly and set it down on table before swinging her legs out to get up. “I promise not to give away any state secrets,” she announced.

The painting caught her eye and she wandered to it first, feeling both men watching each move. She turned on her heel and strode to the retablo and began tracing her hand over the carved detailing on the wall. Salazar had not even acknowledged her.

_Well, here is my hello,_ she thought and she began to hum a song he knew now by heart.

“Teresa,” finally he spoke.

“Excuse me?” She did not turn toward him.

“We can continue this in the daylight? Capitán.” Lesaro put his glass down and excused himself.

“Gui -,” but Salazar’s words fell.

Lesaro walked past Teresa and gave a gentlemanly bow before moving forward when he was stopped.

“No.” Teresa put her hand in his way.

Lesaro stepped back, watching as Teresa’s face turned red.

Salazar scoffed. “Are you done being very pleased with yourself? I have reports to complete,” he looked at her matching the fire in her soul with his own. “Why did you not stay in my quarters?”

That question was enough to send Teresa charging across the room to face him.

“Do you remember when you said I was no longer your prisoner? Order me again. Yes and again! And if I disobey? Here you are to tell me what grand reason I should stand still and shut up. No. Abue did not raise me, sacrifice everything for the family, to have me ordered around by some 18th century Capitán on an overconfident power trip!”

“I had to answer questions about you that was not yet prepared to. You put yourself at risk by your behavior. You. Not I.”

Lesaro tried not to watch, tried to leave but at the sound of the click of the door he heard her speak again.

“No, Gui, stay. Sit. Have another drink.”

“The Lieutenant is done.”

“Oh come now! The Lieutenant can stay,” she moved her hands over the rim of the glasses as if to play some tune across the crystal, then abruptly stopped.

“Yes Senorita. I – “ Lesaro hoped Salazar would order him out.

“Have you told him yet? Or is it only the Good Herrera that knows?” Teresa’s focus was back on her Capitán, and her interrogation only beginning.

Salazar remained quiet in his chair.

“You are avoiding my question!” she yelled and slammed her hand down.

He straightened his back. This was not the reception he expected.

“You act more the Pirate than the Lady,” he poured more of the drink in a glass and handed it to her. “Do me a favor and drink yourself to sleep, eh? Go sleep. Stop interfering.”

“Pirate?” the pain in her voice defining. “This morning you would have me parading naked around this room and now I’m interfering!” Teresa looked down at glass wanting to drown between it and tears forming in her eyes. She decided to call his bluff and drank it in one shot.

She brought her lips down to hover gently over his. “Perfect,” she announced.

Orders or no, Lesaro refused to stay and rushed out the door slamming it shut.

Teresa picked up the glass. “Again. Order me to drink again.”

“Put it down Teresa.”

His words only caused her to back away and to lift the glass higher and repeat his insult with a tone of pride. “Pirate.”

The glass, now forcefully held in trembling hands and the pressure of her anger, the crystal on the verge of cracking above both their heads, shook violently.

“Teresita,” he hoped saying her name would bring him control. “Put it down.”

There was another pause from him.

“Please.”

She stood almost straddling him, shaking. Temptations of every sort flooded her mind. She wanted to tell him of her visions, of the worries that lay on her heart. Those worries were not of a new land or even the prospect of starting a new life. New life. If she could figure out how to control her illness. Magda was right about that. She was ill, and it was a second illness too beginning to show the first stages in her body. The metallic taste of the food, the uncontrolled anger she was expressing now, the dizziness every time she tried to cross the deck.

Teresa put the glass down on his desk.

_You have to tell him_, she thought. _Tell him in Cádiz. A few more days in a different place. You have enough medicine to make it to Cádiz. Distract him. Distract yourself. It’s nothing more than anxiety. _

Salazar reached out his hand to slip it around her waist but she pushed back.

His mouth began to form her name again in severity.

“Do not,” she said quietly, “Do not raise your voice to me.” Teresa moved away and stared at him. “You have stolen from me! You stole everything!”

“I will tell you what to do when I want to and how I want to.”

She closed her eyes and her heart sank.

“Then you will find yourself laying in a very cold bed Capitán,” her hand had not stopped shaking and she moved it behind her to hide it from him. “Stop fighting with me,” she pleaded. “All was lost, but that the heavens fought.” 

\---

Lesaro scrambled down the stairs and could not, in his mind, reach the Officer’s Mess fast enough.

The door had been left slightly open and when he entered the sight before him caused him to hesitate.

Officer Santos stood to the left of Moss, who seated at the far end of the table had his head in his hands.

Magda picked up the discarded scroll and began to read aloud.

“…and regrets to inform you that your brother, Tercero Moss while bravely defending _Anunciación_ has departed from this world and gained his place in eternity. He fulfilled his orders and showed courage and good conduct.”

The room filled with hollow silence as Magda placed the scroll back down on the table and motioned for Lesaro to enter.

He was pale and out of breath.

“Lesaro, sit down! What has happened?” Santos asked.

The Lieutenant shook his head frantically, wide eyed.

Even with the seriousness of the announcement and the death of Moss’ brother, Magda could not hold back a laugh when he saw Lesaro’s face. “Ah, they are arguing.”

“Capitán does not argue with women,” Santos said.

Magda took a deep breath and leaned back, looking at Santos but addressing Lesaro. “Our Lieutenant has seen more than he wanted to I think. She is _singing_ for him! Tell me Guillermo, is she very frightening? When she _sings_?”

“Salazar would never dishonor her! Never.” Santos was sure of it.

“Spirited,” Lesaro replied.

“Gui, sit down,” now more than concern entered Magda’s voice. “Unwise of her to choose a fight this close to home.”

“Have you told him yet?” Lesaro rested his hand on Moss’ shoulder. Magda lifted his head and said nothing. “We are going to Huelva.”

Antonio Moss picked his head up from the table, his red eyes held shocked disbelief.

“Si, Antonio. We will see your family first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figureheads were generally painted. Why they decided not to paint La Maria in the movie, I have no idea. I have headcanoned her dressed in brilliant red and trimmed in gold with silver armor. Currently I am working on a sketch.


	25. "The Year...is 1723"

_ “Once you reach the Edge of the World and turn your mortal body East and furthermore inland, everything that is left to the sea, left drifting and convulsing behind you, sits on the horizon never to touch your soul again. Unless - you decide within yourself to venture out once more and brave the vast blue waters.” _

Huelva sat on the edge of the Gulf of Cádiz on the Iberian Peninsula tucked between the estuary of two rivers. Rome ruled once here. Men challenged nature and her laws under the eyes of citizens in the city of Huelva. The port welcomed and warred, the perfect confluence of every opposite so much, that if one citizen were to say the rocks were orange, another man a few streets over would claim his own eyes had seen the truth and hence declare those same rocks blue.

When word spread that  _ La María Silenciosa _ had begun to make her way up the river half of Huelva cheered and the other half stood silent in disbelief, forgoing their work and taking their places along the shoreline to watch. 

The grandest ship since the sinking of the Armada in the English channel was slowly making her way to the tiny port. The town had expected them on the early morning tide but she arrived late in the last cascading sunset over the sea’s horizon, not in small part because the  _ Predestinastia _ could not maintain speed and Capitán Salazar kept losing sight of her, having to order the sails lifted, and then brought down again. Of course this put the punctual Capitán in a mood. He was not going to let that ship out of his sight for a moment. Her passengers may have had royal decree to enter the port of Cádiz but they did not have  _ his _ permission. He stood at the gunwale and watched as _ Anunciación _ continued with her charge on to Cádiz. And Cádiz - he would not see for another week. He could only hope those waiting would be held accountable for the damages done. 

Salazar rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, the headache of returning to dry land announcing itself early and he retreated to his cabin. 

Officer Antonio Moss perched himself on the cross tress and several times Lieutenant Lesaro had to admonish him.

“Once we are to anchor, you must remain at your station.”

“Si Lieutenant.” He obediently climbed down and replied with a murmur under his breath. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Officer Santos lifted the spyglass and swept his view across the horizon then down to the river. The ship had been tied securely to the longboats that would help  _ La Maria _ make the rest of the way up the estuary and he listened as the men counted each stroke. 

“I’m home, Santos. Home.”

Santos smiled. “We still have work to do, my friend.” He noticed the wide gleam in Moss’ face, how his pupils dilated as he stared out.

Teresa emerged for the first time that day and caught the light of the late afternoon sun with squinting eyes. 

“Senorita Romero!” Officer Moss called out. “Come see!” 

“Did you sleep well Senora-um Senorita?” Santos inquired. 

“Well enough.” 

Moss eagerly handed her the glass and motioned to the horizon. “And see, there is my home! Just beyond the vines at the top of the hill.” 

Teresa brushed down the petticoat of her gown, a stout green that swept to the floor and embroidered with silver thread leaves and vines in a mirrored pattern across the entire fabric. She had likened the gown’s color to leaves of the summer pear trees, rows and rows of them she had seen while on a drive through the Delta region near the Capitol of California, only to have Salazar remark that it reminded him of brillant spring olives that sent a shade of blush rushing to her tanned face. The gown had been intended for display on a lady at Court in Madrid and made by the artists in Genoa. The embroidered design of two carnations at the top with stems woven together down the front and repeating silver threads of smaller flowers she could not identify framed the perimeter with ruffles of contrasting violet down the bodice to the waist. He grumbled that he would rather have adorned her in Valencia’s silks. 

She had spent the morning pouring over Officer Magda’s books and managed, with several vulgar words thrown in, to sweep her hair to one of the more simple and conservative styles. If her hair was not to hold a curl in her own time, no amount of sandalwood scented wax and sleeping overnight in those borrowed rollers would make a difference. Still, there was a softer breeze as they continued being rowed up the river, and the sea air locked with her long tresses to give it volume, just as it had done after a long day at the beach in Monterey. 

Santos was staring, his eyes tracing her from foot to head. 

“Please, Santos. I feel uncomfortable enough,” she said. 

He looked down and smiled. “Pardon Senorita Romero.” He held his words back and cleared his throat. 

“Oh I know. I must look ridiculous in this. I’m sorry.”

“No. I think we have been hiding a proper Spanish Lady on  _ La María _ . Somewhere we must have accidentally dropped the  _ pulpo _ back into the waters.” 

“Octopus?!” She feigned a look of insult. “Not a mermaid then?”

  
“Pardon but you did look, well, frightening when I first saw you. A sea creature that had been spat out by the Leviathan what with your clothing and your hair matted and -”

“And that’s enough thank you! I get the idea. Did you maybe not think that I was terrified too? You do cut imposing figures.” She remembered watching El Capitan the first day she had permission to walk the deck. The harshness he displayed, the terrifying moments of death that tried in succession to take her, the immediate reaction he had when he cut her loose from the mast. 

“Santos?” Her eyes were still focused on the approaching shoreline. “Did all the men think such things?” 

The Officer folded his hands behind his back and thought for a moment. “Not everyone. But you were brave Senorita. It was a courageous thing to pray in the face of death. I heard one man say you were of the  _ Mouras Encantadas _ .” 

Teresa smiled. “A fairy tale. I am certainly no princess.” 

The horizon grew taller and filled with the undulating hills of a foreign land. She was not certain about much of anything. Her past, her future. The only thing she had was the present and that was dependent on her heartbeat and a few pills remaining in a white bottle locked away in her remaining belongings. 

“I’m not even sure what time it is,” she whispered. 

This was the moment. Capitán Salazar might have ordered his men to silence but Herrera’s heart, his soul, had warred enough within and guilt forced him to speak. Almost 300 years separated her reality from theirs. He believed in bilocation, and apparitions of both Heavenly and demonic, the reality of being born in a place locked in the future, well, he had come to accept that too.  _ After all _ , he discerned,  _ is not God outside of time? Did He not create time? And if He created it then He could bend it, and all would have to accept His Will. _

“The year,” Herrera hastily announced through chapped lips, “is  _ 1723. _ ”

“1723,” she repeated casually. “Wait. Seventeen.. Twenty-three?” Teresa repeated the year a third time. The numbers blurred in her mind and it made her stumble back. 

Officer Moss impulsively reached to catch her but she regained her balance, shook her head and grabbed sharply for the glass. She managed a deep breath. Up to this moment she allowed herself to admit there was a strange honor to being transported across the sea on a wooden boat filled with men who were dedicated to their role. Early on she decided to play along. A distractingly handsome Capitán, a beautiful and alarmly accurate time capsule, and she admitted, even when  _ La María  _ had been attacked and she saw the life leaving...No. There was still a small hope this was a dream - A vision that eventually she would wake up from. 

There must be something beyond those hills. She looked through the glass. Nothing above the treeline. She turned sharply back toward the deck, wanting the world to stop so she could measure the details. Instead the ship came to life about her, just as it had each day since her arrival. If what Herrera said was true, if this was  _ that far _ into the past…The sick feeling in her stomach rose. _ _

_ Can’t think about that now. Distraction. Any distraction. _

“Oh! Were those the rocks you told me about?” she asked Moss, scanning quickly the area yet not able to focus her eyes. 

_ Seventeen twenty-three. _

It kept repeating in her mind. Each time she forced it back down and focused on something tangible. The bronze glass in her hand. The leather shoes tight on her feet. The new scent in the air of the river competing with the ocean behind them. 

“Si, si. And the two rivers you see on either side. Tinto and Odiel,” Moss said.

“So the city” her thoughts fell back on her education, the one thing she could speak about with certainty, “It is built on sand?”

“No?” He replied not knowing the correct answer to her question. 

“You are ready?” Lieutenant Lesaro was quick to give orders that would make disembarking swift. The light of day was fading and they had only a short time to anchor.

_ Never, _ she thought.  _ Nothing would ever make me ready for this. _ And she told him yet another lie: “Yes. I think so. Oh, my luggage!” 

“It is all taken care of.” Salazar arrived at her side with his usual confidence. She needed that confidence now. If only she could grab hold of it for herself and apply it to steady her soul. 

He must have seen her slight tremble, felt her lean into him just before he spoke. “This is my land, my country, and I rule here with as much authority as I rule  _ La Maria. _ ” He glared down at her. “You will do what you are told.” He was asserting his authority over her to calm her -  _ and _ to remain in control. 

There were no passports to stamp, no long lines waiting for bags to be checked and forms to be filled out. Customs had to be declared and for a moment that gave Teresa a miniscule sense of continuity. Men with lists and a long series of questions interviewed several of the Officers once  _ La María _ was securely tied to the dock. Not  _ everything _ was going to be strange and unfamiliar when her feet finally set down on this shore. 

Only it seemed those feet would not touch the earth just yet. Before she had time to step down Salazar swept her into his arms under the pretense that the planks were slippery from the water and combined with the receding light of approaching evening he would not have her fall into the river. 

“Armando, I tell you to stop this superstitious nonsense,” Herrera scolded. 

He refused to look at the padre. “No.” To Salazar it was not superstition. She would not touch land until they had reached the grounds of La Rabida Monastery, and after their obligatory thanksgiving even then she would be carried in a fine sedan chair to the Moss family home where they would spend the week. 

“Do I get an explanation?” she asked, tightening her hold around his neck. 

“When we are safely at Fuente de la Cruz Verde.” 

Lesaro interjected, aware that his Capitan would not admit to the thing he personally had not experienced, and to quell any further inquiry by Teresa. “Land sickness.” 

Teresa rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Oh that’s not a real thing!”

“Yes it is,” he repeated. 

“It is!” It was the voice of Bracero chiming in, having recovered and been given shore leave by El Capitán, his manner was that of a school boy leaving for a long awaited vacation. “I have it for days. The whole earth. It disappears under my feet like I am sliding down a fu- a mountain.” 

Teresa tightened her grip around Salazar as they began to walk off  _ La Maria _ . Shallow waves brushed softly against the hull of the ship and pushed forward under the bouncing plank. There was so much constant noise on ship that the quiet, almost peaceful sound of rhythmic lapping of the water before extinguishing on the rocky shore, and the lack of constant sweeping air along her face when they abruptly stopped she deemed eerie. As though she had crossed the threshold into a world where the trees and the rocks absorbed all sound like great acoustic panels to which nothing vibrated back. Each of his steps were as those breaking waves, a slow swell with the rising of his shoulders. Sighing, she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. 

Salazar opened the door to the sedan chair and placed Teresa gently down before locking it and giving orders to the men to walk briskly but evenly. He insisted on that: Carefully, evenly, as if they were carrying an irreplaceable porcelain sculpture. 

Now locked inside this velvet cushioned box she turned and looked out the window, pleading in a whispered tone. “Lesaro, what happened?”

He knew to what she was referring. No one had spoken of it, not even the Lieutenant to his Capitán. “Capitán Salazar will not have you stumble and fall as you did last night,” Lesaro said calmly.

Stumble and fall? She could only remember standing above him and the fire in her hands strong enough to break glass. 

“Does he plan on having me carried everywhere through Spain?”

He ignored her inquest and instead gave his own order. “Please, make yourself comfortable and hold on. We will carry you.”

It was not the shores that made Capitán Salazar hesitate to have her walk. Nor was it the clouding skyline in front of him. It was the reminder of a vast Imperial Empire he would have to conform to.  _ La María _ was his own, ruled and prospered by his voice. The only true opponent was the sea herself which he did not mind warring. They had an agreement. She would take him in all directions and he would prevent the infection of lawlessness from polluting her. And while he was on land that agreement was conditional. The pestilence would continue spreading. Every step away from the water threw anxiety on his heart. He could not be there to protect the seas.  _ He could not be there _ . It made his thoughts twist in sharp words. 

“This is ridiculous. I can walk.” She managed to lean out the right side window enough for her words to reach his ear.

Theresa’s voice cast his thoughts back on shore. “Even so. I will not have you step on land until I make a request,” he ordered. 

“Request anything you like, so long as it puts my feet on the ground. It is embarrassing. Am I in a parade?”

Salazar stopped and looked directly forward. “You are embarrassed to be seen with me Teresita?” Even without her answer he walked briskly away to join the head of the group.

She opened her mouth and released a sigh, tucking herself back in the gilded box. “I’m not an invalide.” 

“No,” Officer Moss replied, who had been quietly walking on the opposite side. “But you are a woman. And I think Capitán hoped you might like to be comfortable.” 

“I think I liked it better on the ship!”

“Please don’t be too harsh with Capitán Salazar. He does this at great cost. And it is tradition! Bring to the Church an offering of Thanksgiving for a safe voyage. The most prized thing aboard is presented and Blessed, and then donations are administered for the poor. And tomorrow!” Moss broadly smiled again. His expression turned what she thought might be wonderment bordering on nostalgia. “We will have a great feast at my home.”

“Am I an object then?” She protested. 

“No Senorita. But you are his most prized possession.” 

Teresa brushed her hands along the seat of the chair as it bounced side to side with the steps of the men carrying her. She had assumed the fabric was black, but in the focused light breaking through the cracks in the door it showed its true hue: a deep midnight blue damask with a single narrow thread of gold outlining the design of the scroll work. The gold shimmered, a contrast to the dark wood of the arm rests she discovered and was now burying her fingers into.

It was not a long journey to the grounds of the Monesterio Santa María de la Rábida in Palos de la Frontera. This small town was the mirror to Huevla sitting across one of the rivers and outside the tight boundary of the small city surrounded by fields and open countryside. Inside, in a marble and gilded niche above the main altar, the famous Santa María statue watched over all. The small 13th century alabaster figure of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child had been found on these shores and fought over between the town for years. Graced in jewels and precious metals from Spain’s new lands, she held a royal place in the Monastery under the care of the Franciscans. No one left to cross the Atlantic before paying homage and asking for fair winds from their Heavenly Queen. The citizens lovingly called her the Virgin of Miracles, the Protectress of those at Sea, the María of Safe Voyages. Padre Herrera was adamant: This would be the first place Capitán Salazar would go when they reached the shores of Spain safely. 

She wasn’t sure what she expected. Perhaps she assumed Spanish churches would have been more like her own back home. All white adobe with red clay tile roofs. They stopped directly in front of a grey pointed gothic double archway. Below it was a small unassuming wooden door. 

“Here, you must wear this inside.” Herrera unfolded from his pocket a silk scarf and pressed it to her hands. “Cover your hair. And do not, for Heaven’s sake, speak.” 

Herrera knocked ceremoniously three times and the great door creaked.

Salazar turned the handle on the door of the sedan and it clicked. But as it opened to the world around her, and as she turned her feet to step out for the first time, she saw only his hand. Upturned and reaching for hers, as he had done so many times before. She did what now came naturally and slid her fingers over his palm. When his hand clutched hers she felt a shaking in her chest, like the rush from eating too many sugar candies on an empty stomach. He clasped his own fingers around her harder. Her foot touched the ground. He refused to let go. 

The solid ground did slip, just slightly, and Salazar wove her arm in his. 

“Capitán,” she whispered. “Armando -,” her words swallowed deep in her throat. 

“Come, come!” Herrera shouted and rushed them inside. 

\---

Herrera genuflected to the Altar placing a small jeweled item down on the cloth, then turned to Salazar and blessed the group, then back to kneel on the step in front of the Altar were he began to pray. To sing. 

_ “Te Deum..” _

She recognized those first words and the melody of the chant that followed. Fearful of Herrera’s warning she did not speak, giving way instead to the looming chorus that gradually enveloped them. Voices quiet and steady, and sung in beautiful unison. It surprised her. She had heard them sing before but here in the stillness and closed walls she could truly listen. 

It was all a lost dream within a dark painting, like something she had seen in old photographs of her grandparents. The flickering light of six tall candles forced her eyes directly to the center of the Altar. It was home, but not quite. It was darkness but surrounded in illuminating beams reaching to the Heavens. There next to her, as she bowed and kept silent only looking through the corners of the scarf, men who she had crossed the seas with presented themselves and gave thanks for a safe journey, making peace with the thought of death and rejoicing in their return home. She too could have been dead. The acknowledgement of her own mortality had played in her mind. That this was all a dream, a fantasy given by the bringer of chaos. Or simply someone had tainted her beverage in Miami. The bottle Cheche had given her as a last souvenir had long disappeared, dropped in the cracks of _ La Maria’s _ decks and down into the Atlantic ocean. Teresa had not placed faith in any other spiritual existence beyond what she had been told in her youth, and certain things she had seen with her own eyes might have been from invisible realms. Here, there were no doubts. They followed each prescribed motion, kneeling and standing, with words spoken from memory. She could almost read each of their faces in the reflected candlelight. Serenity in some, exhaustion in others, but all in gratitude to be home. 

And El Capitán - his eyes remained closed as she watched for any change in his expression. He was deep in thought, deep as the sound of his voice and she tried to follow along with his words. It was no use. She recognized his solemn pose. One she had learned to interpret the first week on  _ La Maria _ . He had the ability to shut out every action happening outside himself to focus on his thoughts. Those thoughts turned quickly to orders that controlled every man. Teresa guessed he might be spending that energy on prayer. But to what end? Would they be praying for the same thing? He made it clear he wanted her, they had been on the verge of intimacy on ship. Did that feeling still carry over now they had made land? Her fears again rose. That fear she discovered every time he pushed her away. He would bring her to safety, away from the ocean, away from pirates, and leave her to the mercy of the King. Even Officer Magda had agreed that was the suitable course. He would eventually have to return to the sea. Every day he joined Herrera in a petition to Heaven to cure her ailment. Was that now only for show? And she had foolishly lashed out at him, accused him of her own failings and he had walked away when she said she was embarrassed to be carried to this place. Yet his words to her this morning had been tender, forgiving. He had remained bold enough to kiss her again when she woke.    
Teresa placed her arm through his and leaned against him. He returned the gesture only slightly, in a way that no one else would have noticed, and he smiled down on her. 

She turned her eyes again on the alabaster statue. A round faced woman cradling a boy child and holding a small staff in the other hand topped by a jeweled pomegranate. Everything about it was ethereal. Unlike the imposing dark tears of the Virgin Mary in Salazar’s quarters, this Madonna wore her expression stonely: A mother and a queen, draped in every precious jewel Teresa could name, and crowned with silver mined in South America.

Herrera’s lonely voice called out the Amen, and the men from  _ La Maria _ reverently filed out of the chapel. Except for Salazar. 

He brought Teresa to the rail and knelt down, his hands once again tightly clasped in prayer. He was still conflicted: Herrera told him to pray for a miracle. He was fighting within himself what that miracle should be. And what if the request became reality? He looked over at the woman now kneeling at his side. She needed healing. He did not understand her illness but accepted her argument that a small bottle held her life. The Holy Mother had helped him before, such a long time ago, when he was still an innocent child. Though looking back he half suspected the outcome was due to earthly interference and not heavenly. It left him with a splinter of hope. Now his faith was bound to his pride. Even the cross from Lombroso hung heavier around his neck tonight. 

Salazar starred at the figure. She stood motionless, he knew this. It was the candlelight that tricked his mind. 

“She is called the Virgin of Miracles,” Herrera whispered. “And you, Teresa Romero, should pray with confidence. What is it your heart desires?” 

“I do not belong in this time,” she said. Every wave of her voice fooled no one. She had only answered that way because she felt pressured to say something. 

“You do not belong? Is that, is that what you think?” Salazar knew she was unsure and yet still was shocked she would say those words. 

“Shouldn’t I - we, be praying for me to go home?”

“You do not believe? I do not understand. You accept a miracle to take you back to your time but not a healing?” He rose and walked to a wall covered in thinly forged silver hearts and hands of all sizes. She recognized them as ex-votos. 

“Here are the proofs! Why do you doubt?” As he rushed back to her side, he knelt down, took her hand and placed it to his cheek. She allowed her thumb to glide across his lips. “Why would you leave?” He hesitated and let the touch of her finger bring his blood to his heated mouth. “Me?”

“Because it is easier to believe that this is a dream. I will wake up. I hit my head or took too much of a food I - I can’t remember. Besides I must have  _ someone or thing…” _ She did not want to admit the loss of him would make her heart collapse and so she tried to remember the faces of her past. “I must have a home, friends. You’ve heard me talk of them?! Friends? They must be worried.” 

Yes. She had spoken the names of friends and places. Those places were tiny dots on a map or not on the map at all. She described wonders and had in her possession things he enviously wanted to discover how they worked. There, he concluded, was another reason to ask her to stay. He would discover her. He would discover the world beyond his own. 

“We shall see. Give Herrera nine days. When we sail to Cadiz you will be cured!”

“Why do you have so much faith?” She pulled her hand away from his cheek. 

Maybe it would have pained him to admit he had a small amount of faith left. Maybe it would have pained him to tell her he had Hope, and she would stay. He chose to remain silent to her question. He had said what he could and prayed enough for that evening. 

They walked out of the stone building to begin the journey up the hill to Cruz Verde. 

The sedan had waited and Teresa was ushered in once again. She tore the fabric from the top of her head and looked at it, crumpled in her hand. It was beautiful, pure, too fine. Like the dress she wore. The chair she was riding in. Being carried in! By hired men - men would walk  _ for  _ her when she would have been happier to walk alongside Salazar. To accept things when they were confined to a ship was one thing. If this was a glimpse into a new life… 

“I’m not. I’m not supposed to be in Spain,” she whispered. “I am supposed to be the -” Frantically she tapped at the pockets on her sides. 

“No!” She shouted and refused to sit down. “Where are they?” She glared at Salazar, a hunger in her eyes.

Padre Herrera stepped between them. “You are home.”

But she was not asking their location and it was Salazar who understood her, reaching into his uniform and producing the white bottle. 

For a moment the tension left her shoulders and she sighed. “Give.” 

No one replied.

“Give it to me,” she demanded again, reaching her arm out. 

Salazar pushed Herrera to the side. “I will keep it here, with me. You do not understand what has happened to you.”

“And you do? Armando if I do not take those pills.”

“You will die. Si. I know this.”

“Well then? Why do you keep them from me? Some sort of twisted punishment for my -” Her behavior but she did not say it. The glass she threatened to break over his head. A coldness rushed down her arms.

“I am sorry.” It was a meek apology. 

“No Teresita. You are ill.” 

Her face turned pale and she pleaded. “Please Armando.”

He looked at Herrera who shook his head. “Where is your faith?”

It was going to be a test of her faith also? Salazar was not ready to demand that of her. “Tomorrow.” He gave her the bottle and she removed one pill. 

Teresa began to put it in her pocket. She had not fought time and tides to reach Spain and not be in control of that bottle. But everything that happened, just behind those doors, asked her to believe. The dark intensity of Salazar’s eyes refusing to leave her, asked her to believe. She returned the bottle to him. She trusted him. 

“Very well. Tomorrow, we begin,” Herrera conceded. 

“Begin what?” Teresa asked. 

“Every day you will cross the river, come to this chapel and we will pray. You see? We will have our miracle.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To whomever keeps reading this and what not, thank you. It’s only because of you I continue to write, even if you remain silent. I know it ends, I know all the details. But I tell this tale because El Capitan has ordered it. If you’ve written for him, you understand. 
> 
> Te Deum. It is still sung in this exact manner today, and is referred to as the hymn of Thanksgiving. The chant is easy to memorize and would be just as familiar to everyone on a Spanish ship as the Ave: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqwV9l-U8ds


End file.
